Venice Beach Stories
by Chicklette
Summary: A collection of o/s taking place in and around Venice Beach, CA. Various POVs voices. Canon couples, AH. M for sex, drugs.
1. Bella Learns About Shotguns

**Venice Beach Stories**

**Bella Learns about Shotguns**

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The first time I see him it's late in May. It's gray and gloomy at one in the afternoon, and the monochrome skies remind me of home. I pull the sleeves of my hoodie down around my fingers and watch the boys play in the skate park while I force myself to read Wharton. The breeze shoots gusts of salty air at me, and the sun finally peeks out of the clouds.

I can't pretend I'm interested in the book anymore, so I close it and tilt my face to the sky. Gulls cry and people are laughing, shouting. The ever-present hum of wheels on concrete, plus the relentless beat of the ocean create a symphony that soothes me. Venice Beach is always alive, thriving with yuppie scum and punk rock kids, barrio boys and girls who look like super models, sunning themselves on roller blades.

I sit up and watch a group of guys skating. There's a new crew that I don't think I've ever seen bunderefore: A big guy who looks like he should be on the weights and not floating two inches above ground on a board, a blond, rangy guy working a 70's stoner look that almost hides how gorgeous he is, and a tall, blonde girl who probably breaks hearts with every smile. She's lanky like the guy and I wonder if they're dating or siblings and when I lean closer to watch them, I see their eyes are cut from the same slice of blue sky. The girl's wearing short shorts and knee socks, and if she wasn't so good on her board, I'd call her a poser.

The three of them are making easy loops in one of the bowls when I hear a whoop and watch as a boy, tall, appears from around the curve and drops into their bowl. He skates past the big guy and there's high-fives between them. He's wearing a pork pie hat and a Zero shirt, and when his face tilts in my direction I'm stunned. He's beautiful. He's pretty and gorgeous, and cute, too, rocking a few days' stubble across his jaw and big scab on his left knee. The four of them roll to the bottom of the bowl, then split off, each performing for the others.

The pretty one though, he takes it further than the rest. He drops in from the top and I can see he's earned his wounds. He's looking great, body swaying in all the right places, when he comes up over the rim and handstands on the lip.

That's when things go wrong. The tail of his board catches the lip on his way down and then he's tumbling, falling, and his head sounds a hard crack when he touches down. He rolls over with the momentum of his fall, but he's out.

I drop the book and rush to the side of the basin. The blonde girl is looking between the two men, and some spectators have arrived - everyone murmuring, no one helping. I ease myself down and go to him. The blonde girl stares and I tell her to call an ambulance, and then say that the county will pay. He's bleeding all over the place, forehead, elbows, and nasty gash on his calf, and the sock at his ankle is shredded and bloody. The big guy goes to pick him up, but with head injuries, that's a bad idea. I stay him and lean over the pretty one, and touch his face with my finger tips.

His eyelashes flutter against his cheek before I'm rewarded with a shot of green, dark and vivid, like pine needles.

"Hey," I say. "You with me?"

He stares at me, puzzled, and then his eyes roll back into his head and he's gone again.

The EMT's are there fast, and the blonde girl squeezes my hand and says thank you. I sit back down on the grass and think damn. He's not a boy at all.

.

I see him a lot after that. I sit on the sidelines and he skates. I walk by the café where he's having coffee. I buy butter and he's two lanes over, buying Cokes and beer. At first there's a butterfly closure on his forehead that I only see when he ditches the hat. Then it's a black scab, and then a pink line that's fading fast. He's seems fine, good balance, and I fall pretty far behind in my reading because I'm watching the skate park all the time.

One day the blonde girl comes over to me. Her hair's in a thick braid down her back and she fixes me with an even gaze.

"Come on," she says, and I just stare.

She gives me a look of real annoyance, and I realize that she could probably kick my ass. So I stand and she takes me by the hand and leads me over to the boys. The big one is double fisting corn dogs. The blond one is sipping lemonade and the pretty one is staring at me, like maybe I've got a tail and fangs.

"This is the girl who helped," she says and they all stop and stare like the pretty one. "Her name's – what's your name?"

"B-Bella," I say. I haven't stopped staring at the pretty one. His eyes remind me of home and it's comforting and piercing too.

"Bella, this is Emmett and Jasper," she says, gesturing but I'm not paying attention. "Edward."

The pretty one nods a little and then smiles, and I think I might have forgotten my own name but he says it so I can remember.

"Bella."

I think to hold out my hand to him but then my phone rings. I fumble for it, in my pocket, and it's Paul with another emergency. I wave and mouth sorry and go to pick up my stuff before heading over to his place. I don't know if he's devil or savior, but I want to both hug and hit my best friend.

.

Weeks go by and I don't talk to the pretty boy. Man. Edward. Once, he looks in my direction for a long time, kind of staring. I flush under his gaze. He makes _me_ feel pretty with his stare. Then one of his friends calls him away. I gather my books and leave while his back is turned. I don't know if I'm more afraid that he'll turn back and catch me with his stare again, or that he'll forget he was looking at me at all.

One day at the farmer's market, I decide it's silliness. I see him, a few stalls ahead and as soon as I finish paying for my flowers, I turn to catch up to him. I could ask if his head's okay. It would be weird, but at least it's something. I'm close enough to touch him, and I say his name, when someone grabs me from behind and spins me full circle round. I squeal and drop the flowers and Jacob – the owner of the arms - plants a sloppy kiss on the side of my face and calls me Bells.

I look for Edward and he's staring at me again, but he looks annoyed or disgusted or just mad. It hurts a little, the rejection, but I can understand it. There are probably too many girls like me, knocking on his door. I try to find the courage to smile at him, let him know I understand but when I look again, all I see is a shock of his funny-colored hair, and the set of his shoulders as he walks away. I sigh and turn my attention to Jacob, and he holds my hand and holds my bags and catches me up on life at home. I've been living in the California sun for four years now, and I don't ever want to leave, but that small town in Washington will always be my home.

Jacob's physical presence is comfortable and easy. We'd been close once, even lovers for six tragic weeks before I left for Los Angeles, but that was fated to fail from the start because only one of us was in love. When I moved to Los Angeles and moved in with our friend, Paul, Jacob and I swore we'd be best friends forever. But time apart and the price of phone calls left a blank space where my friend had been. It would always be easy between us, but the bond was broken, and the fact that there are things about his life that I don't know anymore hurts me, but I'm glad I wasn't selfish enough to keep him on a tether. I hug him again and he smells like sunshine and pine trees. I'm both happy and sad about this.

.

The Fourth of July is my favorite holiday. I get up early and head over to Paul's house. I'd lived there for six months, but life with Paul is…eventful. And I was looking for some quiet. I found a hovel I could afford a few blocks from his place, so in a lot of ways, the good ways, it's like I never left.

I let myself in with my key and find him, sweating over a new creation in the back yard. He's very tall, with dark hair and dark eyes and dark skin. He's Native American and he looks like some kind of warrior god.

He's not though; he's an artist, working in metal sculpture – pretentious, modern shit that I can't stand – but he makes a lot of money at it, and that seems to make him happy. He has a lot of down time, so he throws parties and plays in a band with a revolving door for the bass players. He has another at his bedroom, never keeping a girl around for more than a few days at a time.

He and I tried to make a go of it, once, both of us wasted, but the kiss tasted funny and when we backed away, we were both in hysterics. Another thing I'm glad about. Paul would be easy, but wrong.

I bring him lemonade and start boiling potatoes. He pays the grocery bill and I cook the food, and today I'm making enough for the masses. I lose myself in the movements, the peeling and cutting and carving, and it makes me feel good, makes me remember home, and how I used to care for my parents. They both have new lives now, and our conversations say all the right things, but it feels like - if there was a string holding our hearts? It's been cut.

Paul comes up from behind me, his hand casual on my waist as he pokes his head over the stove.

"Macaroni salad too, right?"

I smile because I love this side of him, the one that turns into a kid when I'm tending to him. "And fruit salad in the fridge and three cakes in the oven."

He kisses my cheek and smacks my ass. "Love you, B."

"Yeah, I know." I pause a moment. "Rachel coming tonight?"

He looks down at his feet and then studies the ceiling. "Don't think so," he answers. "She, ah…." He breaks off and laughs. "Said fucking friends is a bad business. Whatever."

"You tried actually being friends?"

"I'm probably not a very good friend," he says and I turn and smack his hip with the spatula.

"Shut the fuck up. You're a great friend. You hear me?"

He nods and gives me a tickle and walks away, unconvinced. I spend the rest of the afternoon worrying him over in my mind, wishing he could see all the beautiful things that I do. His generosity and warmth. His heart, which he keeps hidden. I know that Rachel sees them too, and I wonder what she's afraid of. Maybe because Jacob's her brother? Maybe because we're all she has in L.A.? I wish I knew how to give her the right shove.

The night falls and people arrive. There are coolers filled with ice and beer, and empty bottles litter every open surface. Paul mans the barbecue and the food is consumed in minutes. As dusk approaches I slip away. They're shooting fireworks off over the pier, and I never miss the spectacle.

The boardwalk seethes with people, and I catch bits and bites of conversation that make we want to linger and eavesdrop.

"_You fuckin' crazy, bitch. Makin' shit up, like I got time to fuck some girl."_

"_Come on, baby, talk to me!"_

"_Nah, I ain't tryin' to hear that shit, I told boy to step."_

"…_you gotta. Because the government, man, they've got fucking cameras. Cameras."_

"_-and don't let her get wet."_

"_-in the food, I think."_

"_-beautiful."_

I breathe it all in, the oily air, the stale BO, spilled beer and popcorn. The smell of the ocean's an undercurrent, cool and salty and there's a hint of coconut in everything. The scent trips my heart a little and I wonder if I should catch a boy to take back with me tonight. Or maybe Paul's latest bass player. Paul's already said he's not going to work out, so I won't have to see him around after. But even that seems like a hassle, and I've gotten really good at pleasing myself. Besides, I can't get the pretty boy out of my head. I know it's not good for me, crushing so hard, but I keep feeding it with glimpses of him, nonetheless.

I push through the people and get right out at the edge of the pier waiting for the main event. Somewhere, someone's playing "4th of July" by X and I sing along, under my breath.

"I love this song," someone says and his voice tickles the inside of my ear. I turn and look and the pretty boy, Edward, he's there, looking back at me.

"Me too. My friend, his band's covering it tonight. You should come."

"Not my thing," he says, and then the sky explodes with color.

I look up and watch, feeling like a child again, grinning at magic from Merlin's hat. The colored sparks reflect across the water and the ocean is right underneath my feet. There's a tentative touch and I realize that Edward is right behind me, bracing his hands against the railing on either side of me. Under the smoke and ocean, I think I can smell him and he smells like leather and something a little sweet and smoky himself.

I'm getting dizzy I'm breathing so hard and then he's got his face next to mine. The grand finale is going off, explosions everywhere and he's trying to say something. I tilt my head and I hear him saying "…kind of beautiful."

I turn and smile up at him. "Isn't it? I love fireworks. Like being a kid again," I yell and he gets a funny look on his face, but I turn to look back up at the sky. As the last embers fade from the sky I hear someone yelling my name. I turn to see Riley making a line for me.

"Come on," he says. "Band's on in a few and Paul really wants you there."

I roll my eyes. "He wants to sing me that damn Clash song," I say.

Riley grins and I know I'm right. Since I started doing the shopping, Paul's assigned "Lost in the Supermarket" as my anthem, whether it makes sense to or not.

I turn and look at Edward and he's got this funny, almost wistful look on his face. "You should come," I say again and tell him the address.

Even though he shakes his head, it doesn't stop me from spending the rest of the night watching the door. He never shows up.

.

It's late in August and I'm standing on Paul's front porch, balancing three bags with paper handles and a twelve of Rolling Rock. I wedge the beer between my hip and the wall and nudge open the screen door with my foot. Fucker better have my twenty bucks, I think, as I scoot into the kitchen and lay down my load.

Paul wanders in from outside, board shorts and t-shirt, barefoot, as usual. "Rolling Rock?" He asks.

"It's what they had. Pay up," I answer, holding out the palm of my hand.

He slaps it and I roll my eyes, until he coughs up the twenty he owes me for the beer and snacks. As he nears the bottom of the second bag, he pulls up three plastic bags of cookies.

"Bells," he says, and hugs me. "You're so good to me," he says. I nod and say "I know," and he laughs and scarfs down a peanut butter cookie, zipping the bag closed, then choking when he tries to shove a chocolate-chip cookie in on top of it.

"Don't worry," I say, and pat the ratty green back-pack slung over my left shoulder. "I have a secret stash, just for you."

"God, I fucking love you," he says and again I tell him I know, and head toward his bedroom to unload my burden.

His room is way at the back of the house and the door locks, so it's a haven when the night's gone on too long and I need to find some quiet. Paul almost always fucks on party nights and he never lets a girl into his bed, so the room becomes mine by default. Plus, he'd never let anything happen to me. I'm safe when he's near.

I'm sitting on his front steps, watching the guests arrive. I smile and greet the ones I know, most of Paul's band mates, their friends, and girlfriends. Some of his customers. I'm kind of holding my breath, hoping Rachel will show. Instead, a big red jeep pulls up in front of the house and blond boy and blonde girl jump out. What were their names? I fish my memory banks for them and then forget to think because someone rolls up on a black motorcycle, and I go a little stupid when he takes off his helmet and it's the pretty boy. Edward.

I pull my knees up under my chin. I want to be small so that he doesn't notice me but I want him to talk to me too. I just…want him.

He locks his helmet onto his bike, then greets the blonde and blond. The big one makes them four as he walks up from parking the jeep and they turn toward the house. I wonder how they got here, I mean, why they're here, and then I see the guitar case lashed to the blond boy's back. Of course. The new bass player.

They walk up the steps and I'm all smiles. Three wave and smile and say hey, but the last one, the one I want, lingers. He looks at the Coke I'm drinking and then sits on the steps across from me.

"You live here?" he asks and I shake my head.

"Paul," I say, thinking he must know who that is.

Edward's face twists into a half-frown, the opposite of the half-grin that I've seen him flash before.

"Paul – he – his family grew up with mine. I hang out here a lot. You don't usually come here." I twist my fingers in my lap. I didn't mean to say that, about him.

"No, we don't usually come here," he says.

We. They are all of a piece.

"Why tonight then?"

"My friend's, ah, started playing with Paul's band."

"Oh. Jasper, right? On bass?"

"Yeah.

I feel awkward and bumbling, as though words aren't things I'm comfortable with, and we just look at each other in the silence.

"How come you're not inside?" he asks.

"I've seen the band play a million times and…I'm not much of a partier." I shrug. His eyes flick to my Coke then back to me. "Not that I'm straight edge," I explain. "Just…I don't want to be all fucked up around people I don't know."

The blonde comes and hands Edward a beer and a Coke. He takes one in each hand and they have a low conversation. I feel like I'm intruding so I leave. He says, "dammit, Rose," and then I close the door behind me. I wonder if she's his. Lucky bitch.

I mix and mingle and play hostess, fetching chips and sodas and cleaning up bottles of beer. I drink one fast and it hits me hard, hard enough that when Paul takes the stage, I'm in the crowd, dancing with my arms in the air, even though I hate this song.

Paul sees me though, moving with the crowd, and plays one of my favorite songs, and soon I'm singing and shouting the lyrics back to him, and then slower, swaying, suddenly feeling, god, just so turned on. I need to get myself under control before I push a pretty boy up against a wall.

Someone stands behind me, hands light on my hips, and moves with me to the song. It feels unreal, like I'm on some kind of drug, with the music working inside of me and I relax and just let go. The stranger's hands are on my shoulders, my arms, light touches and jerky bumps, and I think that if he's not too bad and not too fucked up, I might be able to close my eyes and pretend that the stranger behind me is the someone that I want. He spins me as the song ends and I look up and can't breathe.

Edward's eyes are dark and his hair's just everywhere and we're standing there, staring. He's not touching me anymore and I want to clear the space between us. I want to rub up on him, like a cat. Around us the bodies move, beat surging hard, and I wonder what kind of fucked up he is. He's breathing hard and sweating, so I guess X, in part from the way his hands moved against my skin, like it was something he'd never felt before, something precious, and not just the skin of a girl he doesn't know.

It feels like everything around us slows to stopping, like it's just us, and we're both kind of panting. He takes a step toward me and it feels he's already touching me, the buzz I'm getting from being close. Before I can smile or even speak, Riley cuts in between us, his hand on my hip and starts pushing me into his rhythm. He looks over at the stage, at Paul, and I know that Riley's only trying to check up on me. Keep me safe. There are always a couple of sober guys keeping an eye on the girls, making sure that everyone stays safe, cooling out fights and tossing out drunks.

About three months after I moved in, some guy got out of control at one of Paul's parties. He had dishwater hair and backed me into a corner, his breath reeking of old garlic and stale beer. I knee'd him and spun, running for the safety of the crowd. Paul caught me, found me trembling, and that was the last time I ever saw that guy.

Since then, Paul kept a crew on hand to keep the crowd under control. I am sister, to them. Family. It's a feeling of safety, of protection, that I haven't felt since I'd moved away from home, and my Police Chief dad. Didn't even know I was missing it.

And tonight, I am resenting it.

I want to get around him, back to Edward, and I give Riley the look that says I'm okay, I know what I'm doing. He steps away with a nod but the pretty boy is gone. Not in the house, not in the back yard, not waiting in line for the bathroom. Just gone.

The set's almost done and I slide away. I see the big one and the blonde, and they're moving close and tight together. The big one gives me a nod, eyebrows up, and I smile and look around once more. He shrugs at me and puts his hands on the blonde girl's ass, and that answers that question.

Buzz gone, but keyed up, I decide to call it a night. I grab a bottle of water and a box of crackers, and go hide out in Paul's room, where the noise is muffled and crowd disappears.

I close the door behind me and settle in to the big round chair that's almost like a bed. I twist it so my back's to the door and click off the lights. He's covered the walls in a gauzy blue material, and he strung lights up behind it, so that the walls seem to shimmer with a dim glow. It feels like being set into the sky.

I curl up with my iPod and dig out my Kindle to skim the blogs. I've almost begun to take all this technology for granted, but I'm still incredibly thankful at how Paul's spoiled me.

I hear someone open the door and I'm about to get up and tell them to fuck off when I hear that voice and it tickles my ear. "Fucking hell," he says, and then I hear him sit down on the bed. I peek over at him, hidden by the back of the chair, and he's laying on the bed, with his boots still on the floor, pinching the bridge of his nose.

A minute later, he sits up and pulls a dark blue Otter Box out of his jacket pocket. He unlatches it and pulls out a pipe and a tiny cellophane wrapper with a couple of buds of pot in it.

I watch him pull apart the bud. It's green and pungent; I can smell it from across the room. His long fingers pull away the stem, crumbling the green into the bowl of his pipe. He hunches over the Otter Box in his lap, intent on his project, letting me stare. A chunk of hair flops over his left eye and he blows it away, then sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. I don't think he knows I'm there.

His fingers press the green crumbles into the bowl, and he fumbles for his lighter. Soon, he'll look up and see me. I spin around in the chair and hear him gasp and then swear.

I stop the spin and look at him.

"Fuck! Sorry – I didn't know anyone was in here." He lays the packed pipe inside the box and closes the lid, latching the side.

"You don't have to go," I say, and spin around again. If I keep staring, he'll leave.

"Your boyfriend looked ready to kick my ass earlier."

"Not my boyfriend. Not by a mile."

"No? The other one, then? The singer?"

I laugh at the idea of me and Paul. "God, no. I don't-" I cut myself off, and then decide fuck it. How often am I going to get a shot like this? "I'm not seeing anyone," I say to the fingers in my lap.

"Yeah?" he asks.

I look up at him and he's smiling, just – smiling at me, full and broad and oh my god, even his teeth are sexy. I imagine them on my skin, how they would scrape and feel my heart start to pound again.

"Yeah," I say. "It's cool if you stay."

"Okay," he says. "Want a hit?" He's popped open the box and is proffering the bowl.

I shake my head, hair bouncing over my shoulders.

"You don't smoke?"

I shake my head again. I feel like a mute but he's stealing my words every time he speaks.

"Ever tried it?"

"Twice," I say. "I didn't like it. I felt…out of control."

"How so?" He sets the pipe back in the box and leaves it on the bed next to him. He folds one leg under the other and leans over, turning toward me.

I shrug. Part of me wants to panic at talking to him, but the way he moves makes me feel fluid. Like he's created a circuit between us and everything flows easy. "I just laughed a lot and then ate a bunch of cookies. I didn't like it."

He shifts again, sitting Indian style on the bed, facing me. "How long ago? Were you drinking?"

"Uhm." I bite my lip. Are we really discussing this? "About a year ago. The first time it didn't do anything and then the next time I just laughed a lot."

"Were you drinking?"

"Yeah. It was a party. Here," I add, feeling like I needed to explain everything at once. "It seemed like a good idea at the time, you know? Like it would take the edge off. All those people," I say, thinking again of how uncomfortable it is, being inside of the crowd.

"Yeah," he says. "All those people." He looks down at his hands, laces his fingers together. "You shouldn't smoke and drink," he says, and the easy circuit is gone. I feel like a bug under his gaze.

"But-" I stop myself from saying more.

He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow in question.

"I kind of figured you for being on X earlier." I flush and look down at my hands, feeling like I've revealed too much and made an ass of myself.

He shifts on the bed and picks up the box. "I don't do that shit," he says. "I only do this to slow down my head. Sometimes it goes so fast." He frowns at the box and then peeks up at me.

"You don't mind?"

I close my eyes and shake my head again. "Go for it. Everyone else I know does."

He lights the fire and drags in a breath through the small pipe. He holds the smoke in his lungs, eyes closed, for what feels like minutes. He jerks in a short breath, then shoots the smoke out in a big puff. He lays back on the bed, legs still folded beneath him. His body is strangely fluid for a boy. There are no awkward, gangly limbs, just smooth movement that makes me hungry.

I stare until I see the gleam of his eyes, peeking out at me from beneath lowered lashes. He crooks his finger. "C'mere."

I find my feet and stand, then hover next to the bed. He pats the bedspread near his knee. Black Hole Sun filters up from under the door, the band done and the iPod cranked up on the living room stereo.

"He always play this shit?" Edward asks, closing his eyes again and stretching his arms up over his head.

I nod, then realize he can't see me. "I'll – hang on a sec." I walk out through the throngs of people and knock the volume down a quarter inch. No one notices. I swing by the kitchen, pulling a couple of bottled Cokes and a PBR out from the back of fridge. Two minutes later I'm back at the closed door. I knock softly, roll my eyes at myself, and then open the door.

Edward's in the same position he was in before, except now there's a thin strip of skin showing between the bottom of his shirt and the low-slung waist of his jeans. I set the Coke and the PBR on the nightstand, then pull my iPod out of my back pocket. I settle it into the dock on top of Paul's stereo and thumb the dial until I find "Mexicali Blues." As the first strains drift through the speaker I chance a peek over my shoulder.

He's smirking at me. "I'm not that kind of stoner."

I thumb the dial again, settling on my favorite playlist. The first licks of "Magic Man" fill the air around us and I turn around. "My room," I say. "My music."

He nods. "It's good."

I'm pleased by his approval, and blush when I realize that for the next two months, every time I get myself off to this song I'll be thinking of him smirking at me.

Still, I walk over, pick up a Coke and reach across him for the lighter that's still in the little blue box. I use the bottom end of the lighter for leverage against the cap, and crack the top off the bottle of Coke. Edward sits up, staring at me.

"You want?" I ask, and gesture toward his Coke. He nods and I do the same for his, then reach over him again to put the lighter back.

"Thought you might want a beer," I shrug. Then pull away to sit back down in the chair. He reaches out and catches my wrist.

"I like talking to you," he says.

I look down at my Coke and then at the beer on the stand. I want to be mellow. My heart's beating too fast.

He sees my look as he picks up the blue box. "I could shotgun you. It's not as strong that way."

I look at him and the beer again and shake my head. "I don't…really like beer."

He laughs, low and soft, and even though he's laughing at me, I want him to do it again. He pokes the pipe my way again. "Shotgun this," he says.

I look at him, confused. I don't know what that means.

He reaches out and grabs me around my waist, pulling me down on the bed. I put my hands out, on his shoulders, to stop myself from falling. When I'm down, I shift away, so that we're not touching.

He takes a toothpick from the box and pokes at the half-smoked bowl. "I'm going to take a hit, and then I'm going to breathe it into your mouth. You want?"

I stare at his mouth and try to swallow and instead nod, sip my Coke, then set it on the nightstand next to his. I hear the spark of the lighter and I'm watching his Adam's apple as he inhales. He sets the pipe down in the box and then grabs my shoulders, pulling me close. He presses on my chest, just above my breasts and I exhale and then he's there, his mouth so close that our lips are almost touching. He presses his thumb against my bottom lip, and I open and he tilts his head, like a kiss. The smoke leaks out, languid and it's drifting up over his face but all I can see are his lips bright red, and then I remember and I puff out my mouth to suck it all in and our lips brush and his hand is still on my face and then it's in my hair and the world quiets into nothing but his hot breath against my lips and my heart pounding, pounding, pounding.

My breath whooshes out of me and my throat is on fire, burning up my esophagus and I'm coughing and choking and Edward is rubbing his hand up and down my back. My eyes are watering and my forehead is pressed against his shoulder as I try to suck in a clean breath. Instead I get him: laundry and soap and a musky-sweet boy smell that I've never smelled before.

I pull away and he hands me my Coke. I drink it slow, my lungs still uneasy in my chest. The soda burns my raw throat, but the sugar soothes and in a minute I'm wiping my eyes, trying not to notice how my nipples are pushing out at him through my bra and t-shirt. I lean past him to set the Coke down and when I finally meet his eyes they're dark, burning.

Floyd's "Learning to Fly" comes on and I can't even hear myself breathe. Edward leans over me, his eyes on my mouth. I start to lean back, to give him room and then he's up on folded knees, a hand against my back, pulling my body to his. It feels like falling, the way his hand guides me back against the mattress and then he's on top of me but sort of hovering, not really touching me, except our folded knees.

"They were better with Waters," he says, and tips his head back toward the wall, the music.

"Yeah."

"Tongue tied and twisted, just an earth bound misfit, I." He sings the words in a husky tenor that sends a chill across my body.

He moves his hand out from under my back and braces himself up on it. His other hand drifts across my waist and he keeps looking at my mouth and then my eyes and then my mouth, like he's asking me for something, and his hand is hot, hot through my shirt. I push up on my elbows and push my mouth up against his. It's clumsy and too hard and we both pull away. My face grows hot and I turn it to the side, eyes closed. My body feels warm and soft all over, and I'd escape but that seems like a lot of effort, so I just keep my eyes closed instead.

"Don't," he says. His face is close to my ear and I can feel his breath against my skin. I turn my head, just a little, and my cheek is pressed against his, scratchy and hot. I rub, and the sensation makes me dizzy. He pants against my ear and then his lips are against my cheek and then they're on my mouth, just pressing and rubbing. I open my eyes and he's staring down at me, his thumb rubbing back and forth against my waist.

I want - I want so much more than this, this soft kissing and throb in my body. Slow this time, I press up and he eases away. Slow, he rocks back on his heels and I'm up on my knees. He watches me move until I climb onto his lap, and then I'm pressed full against him and he's got his hands at my waist, setting me steady as we kiss, once, twice, thrice. On the fourth kiss I open my mouth and he does too and there's a single, tender, tentative touch before his tongue is in my mouth and mine is in his, my hands balled into fists in his hair, and he's got me tight, pulled so tight against him, and no one can breathe but it's not like breathing matters anyway.

We pull apart and I swallow, my tongue thick in my mouth and he's – god, he's beautiful, just pale skin and dark hair and eyes that are all pupil in the blue light all around us. He strokes a finger across my cheekbone and then comes in for another kiss, and this time I'm pressing him back, my hand cradling his head until we hit the wall and he's pushed up against it and I'm pushed up against him. His fingers are on my hips and then they fall down my skirt until they're on the backs of my thighs and he's squeezing, his tongue hot and urgent in my mouth.

I press my breasts up against his chest because they're fucking aching, everything is aching and he sucks in a breath and then he puts a hand over my t-shirt, over my bra and just touches his palm to the tip of my breast. His tongue goes still in my mouth, and I make a kind of breathy grunt and that wakes him up because then he's all action – his mouth is sucking and pulling at mine and his hand is pushing and squeezing and his other hand is on the small of my back, keeping me close. I reach down and pull up my skirt because it's biting at my thighs and I can't get close enough to him this way and when I settle back down he's there, hot and hard through his jeans and I rub myself against him and this time _he_ makes the breathy grunt.

"Fuck," he gasps against my neck. "Fucking wanted you. So long." He's sucking at the hollow of my neck, his fingers teasing my nipples through my shirt and then his hand is up under my shirt, moving slow against my skin, but moving up, nonetheless. I pull away and we both look down, and I want to see more so I pull off my shirt and he just stares at me, his hand on me.

He traces his finger along the edge of my bra, and then pushes his palm against my breast, cupping it and watching how it bulges. He lets out a long slow sigh and then bends his head. I feel his breath and I gasp, and then his tongue is on me again, hot and licking soft and this time there's no hesitation as he reaches behind me. I don't even feel a tug but he's sliding the straps down my arms and the music is reverberating up through the walls making tiny, soft rattles and then his mouth is on me. I hold still as long as I can but then I need him, need more and I'm grinding myself against him and his hips are rising to meet mine, and it's a second or less before he's pushing me back down and then he's laying on top of me, not so careful this time, pushing himself against me as he licks and sucks my breasts.

I'm so hot, spinning with him, and he's asking does it feel good. I let out a soft whine because Jesus fuck does it feel good. I take his hand and put it between my legs because as good as his tongue feels on my skin the only thing I can think about is getting his hands where I need them. He groans against my chest and then he's rubbing but still sucking and I just feel laid out and bare, writhing against him like I've never been with a boy before.

"There?" he says as his hand in my underwear makes me tremble.

"Yeah," I say, a whisper. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" He's leaning up on his elbow now, looking down on me and he knows what he's doing with his fingers on me and inside me.

"Yeah," I say. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," and then I'm lost just chanting it, mindless because I'm close, god I am so fucking close and it feels fucking amazing, someone else doing it and doing it right. He's looking down at me and he's got this half grin, like he's so excited, and I can't stop moving my hips but I try, and I'm fucking shaking and he grins wider and says yeah all long and drawn out and then I'm there and it's just – oh, fuck – it's just everything and I am nothing, obliterated by the feeling and I don't know how long I was gone, but when I come back to myself he's kissing soft along my neck and cheek and he's whispering words that I can't hear, but that make me feel warm, and shivery.

He catches my eyes in his and I want to say something, say thank you, and I open my mouth but before I can speak, he does.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he says, and then slips his fingers, still wet from being inside of me into my mouth and I suck, and then he's pushing his tongue in my mouth and we both lick them clean.

I feel mellow and loose, but licking his fingers reminds me of licking other things. He pulls his fingers away and it's just our mouths, and god, he's so keyed up, rocking against my thigh, fingers buried in my hair, squeezing my ass.

I lean up and then turn him over and straddle his thighs. It strikes me that I still have my underwear on and my nipples get hard all over again because that's the hardest I've ever come, and he did it around my panties.

He puts his hands on my breasts but I brush them away, then pull on his shirt. I watch his abs flex as he arches up to take it off, and then as he flops back down. His face looks… like he wants and he's afraid to ask. I lean over and take one of his nipples in my teeth, giving it a soft squeeze. His hips buck up at me and I swirl my tongue around it, then press my tongue flat and firm against it. It's tiny and hard, and I can't quite get my mouth around it like I'd like. He enjoys it though, his hands fly to my hair and I can hear his heart hammering against his chest. I reach down and stroke him through his jeans, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat.

I look down at his body under mine, and it's smooth and hard and I want to put my fingers, my mouth, on all of it. Instead I move up and lick his neck. His fingers tighten in my hair and I keep touching him through his jeans. I move up, licking, sucking, biting, until I'm back at his mouth and he kisses me hard, clutching my head to his face, desperation in the way he tongue-fucks my mouth.

I pull away and shift my hips and rock against him.

"I want to feel you," he says. He brings his hands up to my breasts and covers them with his palms. I lean into them because already, I'm aching again. "I want to be inside you." He looks ashamed for asking.

I lower my head to his. "I want to taste you."

He moans low and his fingers tighten on my skin. I lick down his chest and settle back against his shins. He strains up at me as my fingers pull against his button fly and then he's there – no boxers, no briefs, just him, hard and pale against a dark nest of curls. I stroke him with my finger and god, his skin is so hot. I shift again, until I'm breathing against his cock and then it flexes up, trying to reach me.

"Eager?" I ask, looking up at him and god, the look on his face, just so desperate, so full of wanting me that I drop the tease and pull his pants down his legs before lying on my stomach, my own legs folded up against the head board.

I lean down and take him in my mouth, and already the tip is wet and I lick up the salty fluid and hold him by the base and take him in as far as I can. Which isn't as far as either of us wants, but still he cries out for god and I smile around his cock, and he throbs in my mouth and in my hand. I reach lower and stroke his balls, and set a slow and even pace with my mouth. Already I can feel him swelling under my fingers, so I release him and then move my mouth to suck on his balls, soft and gentle, pulling them away, putting off his climax. I want him inside me too.

Edward is moaning, writhing on the bed. "Shit," he says. Then fuck and shit and damn oh fuck oh fuck, fuck. I love it, love making him babble with only my mouth and my hands. It makes me feel good to make him feel good. I can feel the ache again between my legs and I know I have to go slow, or it'll be done too fast.

His hands hover above my head and I look up to see him alternating between staring down at me, then tossing his head back, just to feel. I reach up and place his hand on my head, and he whimpers and then applies gentle pressure, guiding my rhythm. I feel him getting close again, and he's panting, legs bicycling against the bed, trying to hold his hips still. I slow again and his hand immediately backs off, no longer pushing me into what he wants. I slow and then stop, just tonguing the head of his cock, playing with his frenulum, and he's not as frantic either, as I take long, slow licks up his shaft.

I climb off him and pull off my skirt and then I'm there, standing there, in just my panties. My hair is over my shoulders and it's not quite long enough to cover the tips of my breasts, and I feel bare again, and like a kid, nervous.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and pulls me into his embrace. He holds me there, ridiculous cock throbbing between us, but his hand is stroking my back. "We can stop," he says, his voice choked and low.

I pull back. "I want to feel you," I say, and he kisses my lips and smiles.

The air quiets and then fills with soft, warbling notes.

"No Quarter?" he asks and I nod.

"Yeah."

"Tool?" he asks, and I say yes, and thank god, because Robert Plant's voice turns me on and I'm turned on enough, just being so close to finally being with him.

Edward pulls me back onto the bed with him and lies on top of me again. He goes slow, I don't know how, working me up until I'm needy again, until I'm grinding my crotch into his thigh, fingers in fists in his hair. He sits up and sits back and I can't stop staring at his cock until he slips his fingers into my panties and then pulls them away. I slide my legs through the holes and he looks at the print on my underwear with a cocked eyebrow.

"Lucky Charms?" he says, half of his mouth pulling up into a smile.

I blush and shrug, and then realize that he's still looking at me and that I'm spread open. I move to close my legs and he shakes his head and then reaches out to touch me. His fingers are slick on my skin and I flex my hips until his finger is inside me. He watches me fucking his hand, and then he takes his cock in his other hand and starts stroking himself. It's hot, so fucking hot, and I reach down to rub my clit, because he's distracted and not doing it right.

He hisses as my fingers circle the tender flesh and then his finger are on top of mine, then under mine and he's asking me to show him, to help him do it right and together we stroke me and I'm hot, panting, the fingers of my other hand digging in to my thigh and then he guides my finger with his own and it's inside me and we're both fucking me and I feel dirty, hot and delicious and I can understand why they want in there so bad. It's so warm and slick-wet and it feels good, just soft, and his hand is moving faster on his cock and I whine because I don't want him to finish like this. I push his hand away from me and scoot closer, and then reach up to take his cock in my hand. He shivers at my touch and then reaches behind him. He's got the condom on before I can blink, and then he's rubbing the head of his cock against me and it slides up against my clit and I moan because, oh my god, it feels amazing.

Edward leans down over me, and then he's pushing into me. I want him to just do it, just slam inside of me and start fucking because god, I'm so ready, but he doesn't; he's slow and he keeps his eyes on mine until my heart pounds. He's breathing hard through his mouth and just filling me up until I'm pinned by him, his eyes and his body, like he's taken me over, subsumed me.

He holds his breath and then breathes out. "Are you okay?" he asks, and it's tender enough that I want to cry because it has never, ever been like this. I nod and reach up, running my palm against the stubble at his jaw. I pull him down for a kiss and I hope he can hear what I'm saying. He rocks a little, and I realize he's all the way inside me and it feels amazing. His tongue is doing twisty things against mine and his body is invading mine with perfect fullness. I arch down to meet his thrust and he groans into my mouth. Then he eases back and watches himself slide in and out of me. He's transfixed, making little grunting noises with each thrust and so I prop myself up onto my elbows because I want to see too and oh, Jesus, that feels-

I'm lost because I have never felt that before and I look up at him, mouth open, trying to tell him but nothing comes. His eyes flick to mine.

"Don't stop," I say. "Don't – oh, god."

"So good," he says. "So…fuck…good."

I don't think I can come this way but it feels so good, better than anything, ever, and then he reaches up and strokes his thumb across my clit, and now I think I can come.

"Softer," I say and he eases his thrusts. "No." I'm whining. "Your thumb, soft-oh. Yeah, just-ohhhhh."

I dig my heels into the backs of his thighs, trying to pull him in deeper and he adjusts his angle and then he is deeper, and then he's going harder and I'm bucking against him because it's too much, so good and he's not looking at his cock anymore, his eyes are on mine until I lean my head back, my eyes closed. He leans down over me and then he's got his hands under my ass, guiding me and I'm pulling and scratching, I need him deeper, need more and he shifts just a little and it's there, I'm there, over the edge, shuddering, drowning, lost until I'm found in his smile.

"Yeah?" he says, grinning at me, his hips still.

"Oh yeah." I thrust up once, then twice.

Edward buries his head in my neck then, focusing on his own pleasure. He's close and babbling again, a stream of profanity and pleas, my name taking up every fourth or fifth word and I talk back, coaxing him, saying yes yes yes please yes, god, yes until he's moaning loud and then not at all, collapsed on top of me, his breath harsh in my ear.

He comes up kissing my collar bone, and then my neck, and then my jaw, until his lips find mine with soft, gentle swipes. He reaches between us and starts to pull out and I feel myself contract around him. He sucks in a breath and I giggle, and that pushes him the rest of the way out. He collapses on top of me and we're giggling and then laughing, his fingers on my bare skin, and his laugh gets lost in my hair.

It's beautiful and I feel beautiful, like nothing could ever erase this perfection, even if I never see him again, even if this is all there is.

He says, "I feel like I should take you home, but-" and then his fingers tighten against my hip. I want to say yes so that I can be on the back of his bike, my thighs around his, one last time, but I shake my head.

"I usually just stay here."

"Oh," he says, and he looks a little sad.

I'm naked in his arms and feel color light up my face. I look down to where our chests are stuck together and say "you could stay. This is kind of my room, I mean, the door locks. No one comes in."

He nuzzles my neck and kisses my cheek. "Yeah?" The look on his face is eager, and I try to remember that just a couple of hours ago I couldn't work up the nerve to talk to this man, and now he's in my bed and I know what he sounds like when he comes.

I shiver and he rolls us until we're under the covers. Paul's bed reeks of stale boy, so I snuggle closer to Edward and breathe him in. He does the same, breathing in my hair and we both catch each other and laugh.

"The bed is kind of awful," I say.

"Yeah, but kind of perfect." Within minutes, we're asleep.

I wake up once near dawn. The pale light illuminates the square of window behind the gauzy blue blanket that covers it. I sigh and clutch his arm closer to me, pressing myself back against him. He's awake too, and soon he's inside me, pressing into me from behind as we stay spooned. I don't think I'll come but it feels good, just being this close to him. He reaches over though and starts stroking between my legs and I don't come hard but soft, easy, wrapped up in his arms. He comes with a heavy sigh, then slips out and I resent the thin piece of latex between us that makes him leave me so soon. I don't dwell on it though, I'm asleep again, fast, and the next time I wake up, it's alone, with Paul knocking at the door.

"Bells, come on. I need clean shorts."

I get up and see that at some point I've put on Edward's white undershirt. I don't remember doing it.

I throw on my skirt and unlock the door. Paul doesn't even look at me, just brushes past on his way to the dresser.

"Whoa," he says, and I turn to look.

"Someone got l-u-c-k-y," he says, then laughs. "Who's E?"

I can't see what he's looking at so he pulls me over to the mirror.

There are words and numbers and I can't read it backwards, so I spin the shirt around and look.

Bella,

I had to leave and didn't want to wake you. You're beautiful.

Call me when you get up. I'll keep my cell on.

E

I grin at the numbers beneath his initial.

"Ugh!" I hear Paul groan in the back ground. "You fucked in my bed? Bella!"

I giggle and snatch my iPod off the dresser. "You needed to wash the sheets anyway. They reek."

I look at the shirt again, then frown. "God, what if he just thinks I'm a huge slut? What if he just gave me his number so he can get laid again?"

Paul starts to laugh, then sees that I'm serious. "Bells, come on. If he thought that, why would he leave you his number?"

"Uh, duh. To get laid again."

"No. You don't give the fuck chick your number. You get _her_ number and then booty call. You also don't tell the fuck chick she's beautiful, and you sure as fuck don't leave her with a piece of your clothing, that she can wash and try to give back to you as an excuse to see you again."

I stare at him, mouth open. "Do guys really think like that?"

"Fuck yes. The clean getaway is essential to a successful one night stand. Leave no number, leave no clothes. Welcome to Guyville."

"You realize that I am probably your only redeeming quality right now, right?" I arch my eyebrow at him and he laughs.

I make to duck out, but Paul clothes-lines me around the waist and spins me around to look at him.

"You're smart," he says, tapping my head. "Be safe?" and he lays a hand over my heart. I smile and nod at him.

Paul pulls back and winks. "The guy looked stupid happy when he was leaving here this morning. You gonna call him or make him wait?"

I grin and dig my cell phone out of my purse. I can't wait to make this call.

* * *

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**A/N**

**FarDareisMai2** and Krismom worked their beta magic on this story. They gave me words and commas and em-dashes, some of which I ignored. Please know that any errors contained herein are mine, and mine alone. FDM and Kris are amazing, amazing writers. If you're not reading their work, why?

**Dedicated** to HeBelongstoMe, who gave me encouragement, a pre-read, and some pretty good advice. Thank you.

**I **will write 2-3 more stories for these Venice Beach kids. An Edward story, a Paul/Rachel story and perhaps one other. So while I believe this piece stands alone, eventually I think there may be more to say. If you'd like to read it, please consider putting this on alert?

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**Musical References: **

X – 4th of July

The Clash – Lost in the Supermarket

Soundgarden – Black Hole Sun

The Grateful Dead – Mexicali Blues

Heart – Magic Man

Pink Floyd – Learning to Fly

No Quarter – Tool (The original is by Led Zeppelin. I find both versions to be kind of sultry and erotic, and this fic was written with that song on a continual loop.)


	2. Interlude 1: Paul and Rachel

**Venice Beach Stories**

**Interlude: Paul and Rachel**

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.

"Almost," she whispers. Her breath is a hot pant in the still air.

She has her back to me and I've got one hand on the flat of her stomach and the other on her breast, teasing and pinching her nipple. I pinch hard and she hisses.

"Almost." This time it's louder, a whine.

I slide my hand around to grip her hip, fingers digging in hard. She's so fucking wet, my cock makes soft noises as I slide in and out of her. She's braced her arms up against the wall and leans forward, resting her head against her forearm. I stroke her shoulder as I slide back inside of her. Even through the condom it's hotwet and good.

"God," she pleads. She's right on the edge – has been for minutes now, it takes her so long - and I feel her body tense further as she tries to come. She's pushing it now, trying to force it, and if I don't make her stop she'll lose it altogether. I reach forward and bury my hand in her hair, then tighten, slowly, until my fist is thick with it. She arches back, and I pull up and slide my other hand down to finger her clit. She shakes and rocks against my hand, and I whisper into her ear.

"Let it go," I say, my voice low and demanding. She whines again. "Come on," I yank her hair. "Give it up for me," I say and she shakes harder. I bite her shoulder - she likes the pain - and she sucks in a breath and holds it. I slam into her and she's alternating between holding her breath and groaning.

"Let go," I grunt, panting hard and trying not to come. I pull her hair a little harder and her fingers dig into the wall, nails scraping against it. And then it's there, she's there, calling out wordless sounds of pleasure and she's so much tighter as I fuck her through her orgasm until I finally give in to mine, falling forward over her, bracing against the wall as it rips through me like a rocket.

As soon as I'm able, I take a step back and slide out of her. She's still braced against the wall, breathing hard. Her long, black hair hangs down her back and her body is a perfect hourglass shape. I can just see the curve of her full breasts from the side, and I wish again that we could fuck face to face. Her skin is beautiful, a few shades lighter than mine, but I spend so much time outside.

I wrap the condom in some tissue and drop it in the trash can. Her desk is a mess, papers spilling onto the floor and I try not to step on them, but my legs still feel shaky. I sit down hard in her chair and breathe deep.

I think of her when we were younger, think of watching her grow up. She used to babysit me and Jacob; she had an easy laugh and a pretty smile. She used to let us build bonfires on the shore, cooking JiffyPop popcorn until the foil mushroomed up, picking at it with her fingernails until the hot puffs spilled into our hands.

I think of the first time I kissed her, clumsy and seventeen. We were drunk, down by the water. She was home for spring break and most of us kids were out on the beach, raising hell. Rachel walked off into the woods to piss and I waited a few minutes, then followed her. I waited just inside the tree line, calling out to her as she walked past. She started and tripped so I grabbed her, and a second later we were sprawled on the ground, her body soft on top of mine. I leaned up and kissed her, eyes open and scared. I'd wanted to kiss her for long. Her eyes closed, and she leaned down, and kissed me once, and then again. Her mouth was warm and tasted sweet, something she used on her lips.

A yell from the beach startled us, and she stood up and walked away, without another word. It wasn't my first kiss, but it was the first kiss that counted.

My body feels steady, so I stand again, pulling my pants up and buckling my belt. She's already almost dressed. She won't meet my eyes.

She looks around the room, searching, and I spot the black lacy panties under her desk. I lean down and retrieve them for her, holding them out, but not looking her way.

"Thanks," she says.

I nod.

I thought it would get better, but it's just getting worse. First, it was no more face to face, then it was no kissing. Now it's only in her car, or her office. And every time, she wants it to hurt more. Needs it. I look down at my feet and shake my head. I want to touch her like a feather, but she only wants me to make her bruise.

I walk to the door and pause. Every time I do this, I hate us both a little more, and I think she does too.

"Rachel?" I turn to look at her.

She's at her desk , head bent over papers, tidying up. "Hmmm?" She doesn't look up.

"I…" I stand there, sighing, willing her to look at me, to give me something, some sign that this is more than just a fast fuck for her.

"Forget it," I say, and turn to open the door. I have one foot out before I stop and sigh again. "I can't keep doing this, Rachel." She stops shuffling the papers on her desk and falls quiet. "_We_ can't keep doing this."

I walk out and close the door behind me.

* * *

**AN:**

I can't even begin to thank you all for your response to this story. I'm really proud of Bella's section, and it was amazing to see such a positive reaction. Thank you, so much. Now I hope I don't fuck it up.

All of my love and fealty goes to FarDareisMai2. I wrote this last night and she's got it ready to go this morning. Not only ridic speedy, but also? Just an amazing friend. I love you, girl. Go read her stories – she's incredible!

EPOV is more than half done and will be posted in two parts. It kind of got away from me.


	3. epov, pt 1: Edward Keeps a Secret

**Venice Beach Stories: Edward Keeps a Secret**

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.

I wake up in County and Rose is hovering over me, her hair like a curtain around us.

"What the fuck?" I ask, and she tells me how I hit my head skating and conked out. _Fuuuck._

"Doc been by?"

"Not yet," Emmett says, and then Jasper pushes off from the wall and heads out to get someone to see me. I feel fine. Sore as shit, but fine.

Then I notice the smell. Strong and antiseptic, with bleach and something sad and sour underneath it, sweat and puke, and there's something tugging at the back of my mind, that says this is wrong, smelling so much. My nose burns.

I lift my head and the pain comes like a fucking tidal wave. For a minute I can't see anything, and then the flashes of light show up, and suddenly my skin is screaming right along with the two fucking nails being driving into my temples.

The pain hits me so hard and so fast I'm panting, and before I know it I'm curled onto my side, puking. Rose is there with the bedpan, and thank fuck for that, but the motion of turning makes the world drop out from under me and I'm puking again, and then dry heaving. I hear Emmett's voice in the hall and he's yelling. It sounds like a jackhammer in my head. Rose has her hands on the back of my neck and in my hair, and she's trying to soothe me but it fucking hurts. I've never had a migraine come on so fast before, but before I can consider why I'm out again.

The next time I wake up Rose is holding my hand. Jasper is looking like a caged cat, kind of feral and nervous, and Emmett's just holding up the wall, eyes closed, head back, probably asleep. Fucker can sleep anywhere.

"Hey," Rosalie says, and she her face hangs above me. It's the weirdest thing, but instead of her, I see someone else. A girl with brown eyes and long brown hair, wearing Rose's same look of concern and her skin is too white for L.A.

I blink hard and it's Rose again. What the fuck was that?

Before I can get too deep into it, a nurse comes in. She's asking me questions about the paperwork and wants to know if I'm insured. I say no and then she asks if I'm indigent. No judgment, just the question. And I could say yeah, but fuck that – I pay my bills. I pull out my wallet and hand her my Mastercard. She bristles and hands it back and tells me to see billing on the way out. Whatever.

Two hours, a bag full of pills and a little under two grand later, we're out the door. As I load myself into Emmett's Jeep, I remember the girl from my head. She was really pretty. But then, I guess fantasies are supposed to be, right?

.

Two weeks after the head-crack and I'm up late with Jasper. We've got porn on the big-screen, but it's on mute. We're sampling the latest crop and it's fucking stony as shit. I'm stoked that I'll get a good price for it, and Rose will be stoked because she'll need to use less in her cooking. My whole body feels good, just loose and easy and my head is quieting down to the point where I'm feeling a little bit stupid. I look at Jasper and grin, and he grins and we laugh because we are both really fucking high.

"Gig on Friday," he says. "Gonna come out?"

As high as I am, I feel a little resentful. He knows I hate being out in a crowd, but I feel like a dick not going to see him play.

"You might meet a girl," he says. My head lolls to the side and I look at him. "Or a guy." His voice is quiet and he breaks eye contact.

"Fuck you," I say and punch his arm. He doesn't smile.

"You think I'm gay?"

He shrugs. "That or a fuckin' monk, man. When's the last time you got laid?"

"Just 'cause I don't drag some skank home every night like some people," I say, knowing it's a low blow. I don't think he gets a lot out of his one-night stands, but I get why he does it. I know enough about the macho man bullshit his dad pushed on him to know why he does it.

"Shit. I'm just – I'm not going to meet a good girl at a club." I think about the dark-haired girl in my head and wonder if she's an actress or a model. I couldn't have made her up out of thin air.

We both look over at the screen and there're two girls and two guys and a little more full-on close-up than I really want to see.

"You want the blonde?" he asks. He knows my type.

"Brunette." The word pops out of my mouth without any thought on my part and Jasper stares. "Fuck, changing up?" I shrug and study the screen.

Jasper chuckles. "Guess your Florence Nightingale got to you some."

"What?"

"The girl Edward?" He reaches over and taps on my head with his knuckles. "When you knocked yourself out?

Two minutes later he's telling me about the girl at the skate park who helped me.

It's kind of a relief to hear that there was a girl, but now my mind's in overdrive because I need to see her. I need to know if it's her, the girl from my dream. The one I can't stop thinking about.

The next day we're hanging on the boardwalk. Emmett's chowing like he's never going to see food again, Jasper and Rose are having some kind of twin-type powwow. She looks over at me and Jasper's pushing her on something. I hate getting in the middle of those two – Rose can be a bitch when she wants to be.

They talk and she sighs and says "fine" and huffs off. Emmett's glowering at Jasper because he's going to have to be the one to bring her down later tonight. Whatever. I'm staying out of it. Then Rose walks up with a girl. The girl.

There's introductions and I can't say a fucking word because she's there, and she's prettier than she was in my head, and I need to touch her, find out if her skin is warm and if her hair is soft – it looks really fucking soft – but all I do is say her name and she gets a call and walks away.

I close my eyes against the hiss in my chest at seeing how easily she turned away, when all I want her to do is stay.

.

The end of August can be stifling hot, but the Pacific breeze washes enough cool up the street to push a breeze through the house. Beach houses almost never have A/C, and it's too much of a hassle to have someone install it. How would I explain the garage?

I've been cooped up in the house for what feels like weeks, but has probably only been a few days. Well, it's been less than that - I had to go out for smokes yesterday. Rose is being bitchy about buying them for me again. I groan and stretch and head to the kitchen for a Coke. It's already two-thirty, and I have to go out tonight. Jasper's in a new band and it's their first gig. Whatever. I'm driving myself. I'm not getting stuck at some fucking house party all night.

I drag the Coke into the shower with me and stand under the cool stream. I close my eyes and the girl comes to mind. Bella.

Bella with the brown hair and the boys all over her; every fucking time I try to talk to the girl, some guy's jocking her. And she never looks sorry to see them. Still, I see her face the way it was under the fireworks, all lit up and wide-eyed, like a little girl. There's something…clean about her. Like the Noxema girl. It makes me want to hold her hand, and I feel like I'm fourteen again, crushing on a girl for the first time.

I lather up and think about the way she looked that night, the shorts cupping her ass and the t-shirt she wore hugging the sides of her breasts and the little pucker of fabric between them, because the shirt stretched just a little too tight. In my head she turns to me and talks to me, and I bend her over the rail of the pier and kiss her and then we're in my bed and I know that this is only the first time I'll jerk off today, thinking about that girl.

I'm trying to do the right thing. I'm trying to stay away from her. She doesn't belong in my world and it would be fucked up of me to drag her in to it.

.

I roll up to the party and see Emmett's already there with Rose and Jasper. Even though I said I'd come, I still catch their surprised looks when I turn off the bike and tug off my helmet. We're walking up the steps when I see her. She's sitting behind some cement lion, hair long around her face and wearing this little skirt but all I can see are legs and bare skin and for the first time ever, there's not a hundred guys swarming her.

I sit and talk to her for a minute, but before I can get anywhere, Rose is there, being a bitch, reminding me of my responsibilities. I think Bella looks a little sad as she walks away, and I want to tell Rose to just fuck off, but she's family, man, practically blood, so I don't.

I walk into the party last night, thinking that I can just keep my distance. But she's everywhere. She's talking to everyone and hugging everyone and kissing cheeks and just fucking giving herself away to everyone but not to me because I never let her get near.

Still, I couldn't stop myself. Not when the night got loud and she was on the dance floor, throwing her body around, just grinding her hips and fuck I'm going to remember her like that, sweaty and flushed, hair all over the place, forever.

Maybe it's because I've spent months watching her, just trying to figure out how to talk to her. Maybe it's because I was halfway to a concussion the first time I saw her and spent two weeks thinking I made her up. Or because when she watches fireworks I can see that she was once a little girl, and when she smiles big, I get this ache in my chest, like I need to be near her. I feel protective of her and that easy smile.

And who could blame me? Seems like every guy in the place is checking her out. I finally can't stay away for one minute more. I slide up to her on the dance floor and start dancing behind her. She eases back into me, and just the feel of her skin under my hands is tripping me out, like I've never touched a girl before. Then I remember that it's been three years since I have touched a girl, at least like that, and it makes sense then that touching her gets me hard like some kid in high school.

I dance with her until that blond kid comes and cockblocks me – same one from the Fourth of July. So I do what I did that night. I get lost. I walk out of the party, down the front steps and down to the ocean. Sit and listen to the ocean smack the shore, and it sounds gentle and soothing and not like the ocean is pounding sand and shells and rocks into bits of powder with its strength. I want to smoke a bowl, but I don't want the ticket, so I sit and think about the girl. Think about her helping a stranger, passed out on the cement, not even worried about getting some guy's blood all over her. Think about her shopping at the farmer's market, seeing her at the grocery store, and the way she looks, sitting on the grass with her head in a book, the breeze catching all that hair, how it shines.

I wish I was just lonely. I wish I was lonely or horny or bored. I can deal with that – any of it. But I'm not any of those things. And what I can't deal with, for one more day, is how much I want her. I want to – fuck. I want to make her come and make her smile and hear the thoughts in her head and fucking just…touch her again.

So I go back into the party and I find a quiet room where I can smoke a bowl and she's there, and she talks to me and touches me and lets me kiss her with my smoky mouth. When I offer to shotgun her I just want her to not be nervous and I want to be inside of her, even if it's just smoke from my lungs. I want to be inside of her.

She takes me in, into her mouth and her body, she takes me in and when I wake up the next morning with the blue light all around us, she looks fragile and delicate and it's stupid to fall in love with someone overnight but I've never lied to myself much and I don't see why I'd start now. For the first time in years I'm pissed about my job because I have to leave her, and I won't get to see her sleepy, morning smile. And I know I can make her smile.

I find a Sharpie on the desk and I dress her in my shirt, gentle with her, but she's passed out cold. I'm a selfish prick, so I kiss her cheek, her hair, her mouth, until her eyes squint and her face bunches as she presses it against my chest.

I get back to my place and I'm wired fucking tight. I'm pissed that I had to leave Bella, pissed that I couldn't stay in that awful fucking bed and hold her in my arms and bury my face in her hair to get the reek of that other guy out of my nose. She says Paul's just a friend and maybe he is and maybe he isn't, but some part of me really liked fucking her in his bed.

I hope to fuck she calls me, but if she doesn't, it doesn't matter. I see her on the street almost every day. I'll find her again. I have to.

I walk into my office and pack a bowl and smoke it. And then another. I tip my head back against the chair and remember last night, and every graphic detail and my cock is hard in a second and a half. I run my palm against it and remember how it felt, the music like a cradle, stony hot and liquid in my head, in my veins. She shocked me, the touch of her hand and the press of her body and the way she gave herself up to me, awkward and honest and real. There was nothing staged about her, from the mismatched underwear to the way she'd fumbled, moving my hands where she wanted them. She meant all of it. She was sincere in a way that made my heart…hurt? Something.

At ten Rosalie walks in, all bluster and shopping bags full of Rice Crispies and marshmallows and chocolate chips. Four pounds of butter thunk onto the table, and she goes about her business. She'll be here for eight hours, give or take, which is fine. It's all fine, always. From the moment we met, years ago in school, I'd felt something for Rosalie. Granted, first it was revulsion, but when I found her that day, crying behind the new theatre, things changed between us. I couldn't just let her sit there and cry, and when I found out about the guy she'd been seeing, and the maybe pregnancy, and all the shit that went with it, I couldn't just let her be alone.

I pulled her into my world, and three months later along came Jasper, and after we took care of Royce and the maybe baby was…resolved, Emmett came along. At the time, I thought this life was the best thing for her. I thought it was a good solution, and so did she. Now though, it feels a little bit like a trap, and we're all working the cube, trying to solve it.

At 10:48, my phone rings. It's an unknown number with a weird area code, but I answer because it might be Bella. I'm crawling out of my skin not to just bail on Rose and run back to that guy's house and pound on the door until she lets me in. I want to get back inside of her, back in her arms, back in her mouth, just back.

It is Bella, and five minutes later we've had an awkward conversation. I'm picking her up at seven for a date and I hope to fuck I don't mess it up. I can't help how good it feels, just to talk to this girl, even if she's shy and nervous by the light of day.

When I leaned forward to kiss her, I didn't mean for things to go so far. But she wasn't backing down and fuck if I was either. I was nervous as fuck, too. I hadn't been with someone in years, so to go from zero to sixty in the space of a night was fucking with my head a little. But god I'd been watching her for fucking weeks and months and every time I got close there was some other guy staking a claim and why not? The girl is fuckall beautiful. Not like Rosalie, where it's just obvious even when she tries to hide it. Bella is beautiful in the girl-next-door kind of way. In the bakes pies from scratch kind of way. I just didn't realize she was also beautiful in the "oh, yes, fuck me," kind of way, and shit, who knew miracles were real?

She is real.

When I leave the office Rosalie stops stirring her pan full of marshmallows and green butter and gives me a hard look. "Don't do this, Edward."

"Do what?" I know goddamned well what she means, but I'm going to make her say it out loud. If she can be this selfish, I want us both to hear what it sounds like.

"Don't get involved with her. You don't know her. We don't need the hassle."

I stare at her for a long time as years of resentment bubble up inside of me. She owes me fucking…everything. And still she would begrudge me this.

"I'm not marrying her, Rose. I'm taking her for a movie and dinner. This isn't your business."

"Fuck you, Edward. Look around you. This is all my business. Don't fuck us all over because you want to get laid."

"You're incredible." I walk back to my office, laughing, but inside, I'm disgusted with us both. Her for her unrelenting selfishness, and me for the way my temper spiked at hearing her talk about Bella like that. But god dammit last night was not a lay. Last night was…. I sigh as dozens of different erotic images flash behind my eyes. I can't believe the things she did, let me do. The image of her touching herself stutters and then my head turns it into her touching herself a dozen different ways, bent over, on her back, on her knees and my dick is so fucking hard I have to reach down and adjust it so that I can sit down.

Two minutes later Rose is standing in the door of my office. What I really want is to close the door, turn on some music and jerk off, but instead I swivel in the chair and face Rose.

"Don't start," I say. I've had it with her bullshit. I watch as she struggles to get herself under control, and her face softens.

"You just met her is all. If things go wrong, they'll go really, really wrong. I need to know that you're thinking straight."

"Who owns this place, Rose? Who's name is on the electric bill and the water bill and everyfuckingthing else?"

She has the good grace to look abashed.

"I'm not stupid, Rose. I know the risks." I stare her down and she looks away. "She's not a narc."

"Be sure," she says, and then turns away.

"I am," I whisper, surprising myself.

.

I'm sitting on the shore and the ocean's crashing hard. It's dark and quiet, the world's asleep, but not me, and not the stray dogs that creep out here, late at night. My back pockets are probably full of sand, and what I want is a hit of Bella, but I'm not going to get that tonight, so I'm settling for a hit of Kush instead. I watch the moon shine on the water and cuss her friend Paul and their plans, and cuss her Lit professor for giving her such a heavy load and cuss anything that keeps me away from her.

I suck in the smoke and after a few minutes the buzz hits me, but I can't really call it a buzz. Instead, it's an anti-buzz, it's the thing that keeps my head from spinning too fast, getting too full. I have to make a fucking decision about Bella and I can't do it with my head screaming at me.

I relax into my anti-buzz and stretch my legs out. My head's spinning a little less, at least, it's not trying to think five different things at once, which is how it usually is in there. I breathe deep, cool, salty air, and notice that we're getting a little bit of fog. I'm glad that the weather's cooling off. It's better for the plants than the stark heat of summer. I sigh and think again about giving it up.

It's my life. It's what I've known for the last six years, and more than that, this decision will impact the people I love. Rose depends on me, and I guess in a measure so does Emmett. I shake my head again, trying to figure out how I got here. I wish I could say it was hard, but it wasn't; it was the opposite. And I don't regret it. Not a minute of it.

But now there's Bella and I don't know what to do. I can do what I want, which is be honest with her, but I don't know if I can trust her. Her dad's a cop. Or I can do what's safe and let her go but every time I even think about not seeing her again my chest gets tight and it just…it fucking hurts.

I stretch out onto the sand and close my eyes. Since that first time she called me, I've been trying to do this right. I took her out for a date that night – dinner and a movie – and that girl, that ridiculous girl – she insisted on watching the new political thriller even though I was more than willing to see the latest chick flick. She tried to pay for half of dinner. And then we stood on her doorstep and – the girl lives in a converted garage – so not okay – she started stuttering and mumbling about how she really wants to invite me in but that she's not sure and then she gets all flustered and says what are your sexpectations, Edward?

I gaped at her because she's amazing, just strong and confident and fearless. And her turn of phrase was kind of hilarious. But then I got what she's asking me, and what she was trying to say. So I tipped her head up and I touched my mouth to hers and I pulled back and looked her in the eyes.

"I don't expect you to do anything you're not comfortable with," I said, because it was true. As amazing as it was with her, the last thing I wanted was her touching me out of some kind of obligation. "Last night was…fucking…I really want to do that again. But not if you don't want it too."

She flushed at my words and smiled at me, this big, open smile, and I could see then that she'd been thinking about it all night. She'd been nervous about the sex part all night, and it broke my heart a little because, fuck, I'd wanted to just _talk _to this girl for so long, and she thought I might not want her because of sex? I didn't even know what to do with that.

So she opened the front door and we walked inside. It was a little one-room place that smelled like vanilla and coffee. I sat down on the futon and noticed that she had a computer desk set up, a half-fridge and the world's smallest stove in the corner, and I thought about the huge kitchen in my house and how Rose was the only one using it. And the king-size bed in my bedroom and how I sleep on the couch most nights, falling asleep to Charlie Rose and waking up to Elmo.

She asked if I wanted the tour, so I stood and she held my hand and pointed to the kitchen, the bedroom, her office and, finally, behind a small white door, the bathroom. She walked to the fridge and asked if I wanted water or Coke, and so I said Coke, hoping to see her do that thing with the lighter again, but she pulled a church key off the side of the fridge, and we sat, awkward in the quiet.

I wasn't really sure what was going on, so I looked over at her bookcase and was surprised by what I found. She had classics and plays and politics, all mixed together. I pulled out an Ibsen play and an hour later, we were both just absorbed in conversation and she had a dozen other books out, showing me passages that related, making all of these crazy connections, and then she pulled down this novella and she started reading it to me, from the first chapter. I sat down next to her and then she patted her thigh and I laid my head in her lap and it felt so good, having her read to me, her fingers stroking my scalp and playing with my hair.

I was asleep before I knew it, and Bella, she must have stretched out a little because somehow I woke up hours later all wrapped around her, both of us in danger of falling off the damn futon. She woke up and folded down the bed, and we climbed under the covers. I brought my hand up under her shirt and found that she'd taken off her bra at some point. She sighed as I wrapped my hand around her bare flesh, and I got hard and pressed against her, but before anything could happen, we were both asleep again.

I don't sleep well. I mean, I catch a few hours here and there, but that night, tangled up in that girl, I slept like a baby. The next night too, again on her crummy little futon, with a slat digging into my back and my feet and wrists hanging over the sides. She'd had dinner with Paul that night and I really wanted to tag along, wanted to meet this guy proper and find out just what he thought was going on between them, but I'm a smart motherfucker so I didn't press it. Instead I waited like a bitch for her to call, and when she did I went over and we made out on her bed and dry humped like we were fifteen. She put on a movie, that French one that everyone loves, and I watched her smile at the television in the dark, her face beautiful in the shadows.

"What?" she asked, catching me staring.

"You're so pretty," I answered, because it was the truth and I don't want lie to this girl. Maybe I should be playing it cool or playing some game, but I feel like a gushing kid around her, and it's weird, being so unguarded, but I like it too. She flushed and then looked down at her fingers and then looked back at me and what I saw was that she wanted me.

At least, that's what I hoped I saw, because I moved to touch her then, to kiss her and lick her and maybe bite a little, someplace that would make her moan. She got up and pulled out the futon, and then sat on her knees at the edge of the bed and I could feel how nervous and scared she was. I sat up and pulled my legs under me and reached for her hand.

"C'mere," I said, and pulled her onto my lap. I couldn't help how hard I was, and I hoped she knew I didn't expect anything, even with the bed made, even with us on it. I needed to touch her though, so we sat until I shifted and put my forehead on her shoulder. Then I leaned and kissed her neck, just one small kiss. I asked if it was okay, or if maybe I should leave. She shook her head and dug her hands into my shoulders.

"We don't have to do anything," I said.

She nodded and then kissed me and an hour later she put my hand down her pants, making herself come against my fingers. She was rubbing me through my shorts, sort of stopping and starting and when she tensed, right before she came, she let go of me and fisted the comforter hard. I was sorry she'd let me go. I wanted to feel that, even if it hurt.

I touched her until she pulled my hand away and shivered, and then pushed me onto my back. My cock was tenting my shorts out pretty good, and I hoped she would do something about that, but it didn't really matter if she didn't because since the first time I saw her I'd been jerking it a half dozen times a day, and it only got worse since the other night.

She palmed me through my shorts and then stopped.

"Can I just touch?" she asked.

I swallowed and nodded because the thought of her hand wrapped around my cock made my brain stop working.

She unbuttoned and unzipped the shorts and then her fingers were there, light and soft and my cock was just twitching up, trying to get into her hand. She pulled my shorts down my legs and trailed her fingers back up, scratching a little on my thighs and then she started stroking me, soft and slow, and watching me. God, it was so fucking sexy, the way she watched her hand on my cock. I was trying really hard to keep my hips still and not just fuck her hand, but then she leaned down and licked me, just the tip, and I let out a groan and my cock jumped, and then she sucked me into her mouth and I'd never been so close, so fast. She looked up at me and everything sort of short circuited, because I wasn't thinking, just feeling, and I wanted to ball my fists into her hair, and push her down hard, but what I really wanted to do was bury myself between her legs but what I did instead was moan and twist and I was close, so close, so fucking close and then I was pushing her away and she looked up and was startled and I put my hand where her mouth was and it was sticky and wet and then I was done, coming all over my stomach because she pushed up my shirt at the last minute.

"I didn't want you to get it in your mouth," I said, because she was looking at me funny. Then she gets this little half smile and bites her bottom lip and blushing hard she says "I did."

Before I could react she was gone, behind the little white door to her bathroom and I heard the water running. I was halfway to hard again, thinking of coming inside of her mouth, and I felt dirty because I really liked this girl. I was looking around for a Kleenex or something to wipe myself off with when she came out of the bathroom with a warm, wet washcloth. She cleaned me up and I said thank you and then I kissed her for an hour because thank you wasn't enough.

A breeze blows up, sharp from the water and pulls me back to the present. She asked to come to my house, to cook me dinner and when I said we'll see, something closed up in her eyes and I felt sad and then pissed about it. So I went home and asked Rose to help me clean up, because, fuck, I've been living alone for six years and it shows. Rose is still pissed about the Bella situation, so she's not helping me, and it's not like I can call a fucking maid service so I spent the whole day cleaning my house and washing my sheets and I fucking scrubbed the kitchen floor on my hands and knees. Rose laughed at me and called me a chump and Emmett looked sympathetic and offered to wash the windows, and this isn't going to work because I didn't even realize they were dirty.

I get that not having a girlfriend, let alone sex, for the last few years has put me at a disadvantage. But it hit a point where I didn't want to waste anyone's time, and as much as they said they were okay with a one-time lay, they weren't, and I got sick of being the asshole. I stopped going out almost entirely about two years ago. I could never be what those girls wanted.

But this doesn't have anything to do with that.

It has to do with thinking about that girl, about seeing her everywhere for months and just fucking trying to stay away from her because I know I'm not good for her, I know she doesn't belong in my world, but when she puts her tongue in my mouth or when she's talking and her voice gets high because she's excited, I want to touch her, and hold her, and hear more.

I know I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, and three years of fucking my hand makes me wonder if I can still please her, if that night was a fluke. And I'm relying on dating protocols from high school and I hope she's willing to give me more than one shot, because I know I'm going to fuck up somewhere, but god damn, this girl was made for me.

I watch a handful of cold sand shift from one hand into the other and back again. The wind carries some of it away and I'm jealous because I want to be carried away too. I want something easy and I don't want to have to think about what I'm doing because it's probably not right and I just don't care and that makes me not the guy I'm supposed to be. I want her. I don't care about the risk and I know that if she'll let me, I'll love her and not ruin her. Despite it all, I'm a decent guy. I wonder if she'll see that.

.

We're at her house, in her bed, and she's letting me touch her everywhere. She's putting my hands where she wants them and then sliding hers under my clothes, then taking them off of me. We still haven't had sex, and I know she wants to, but is holding out. For the first time in my life, that's okay.

When Lauren and I broke up, she told me that the thing she hated most was how pushy I was about sex. And of course I was. I was still a kid and I wanted it. It was…fuck. The first time I had sex something in my head just clicked. That was what I'd been waiting for, my whole life. I was a greedy little prick about it.

Now it's different. I'm different. Now I want to know what it's like to be wanted, and not just given in to. I want to know what it's like have someone burn for me, and not because of how I make their body feel, but because of how I make them feel inside and out. I know that the girls at the bars will never be that. For them, I'm a prize, something unattainable. I want more.

Bella groans and I push her onto her back. I ask if I can take off her underwear and she nods, then tries to get them off herself. I sit back and look at her once they're gone. I run my hands up her legs, squeezing at the top of her thighs. I know if I keep this up that she'll start touching herself and it's a special kind of torture, her doing that in front of me. My mouth is full of dirty things to say, things she likes to hear, whispered low, into her ear.

I don't lean forward and say them. Her hands have drifted to her breasts and I'm surprised at how rough she handles herself. Her whole body is tight now and making her come will be easy, which means I'll get to do it at least once more tonight. Getting her off is my new favorite thing to do. I bring her leg up to my shoulder and kiss her calf, and then stretch her so that I can kiss behind her knee. She giggles and gasps, then jerks her leg back. I set it down beside me and continue to kiss up, licking, sucking, and Christ her skin is so soft, like butter under my tongue.

I nuzzle my way up, I just catch the scent of her and then she jerks back and away and has her legs closed tight and a pillow over them. What the fuck just happened?

"Bella?" I feel strangely vulnerable then, my cock softening, naked in front of her, and she's staring down at the pillow, trying to do origami with just her fingers. Her face has flushed a dark red, like she's been exercising for an hour on a hot day, and she's shaken her hair out so that she's almost hidden.

I pull the other pillow onto my lap and reach for her hands. "What did I do wrong?" I ask, and she shakes her head. "I thought you wanted-"

"It's just…."

"Go ahead," I say.

"Oh, god." If possible, her skin turns darker red. "I just…I don't think I can do that."

"Oh," I say. "Oh!" The light bulb comes on and I get what she's shy about and it confuses the hell out of me. "Why not?" I ask. I mean, we've had sex. She's had my fingers in her mouth.

"I just…." She's breathing heavy. "It just seems really intimate, and…I don't know, like, what if you don't like it or I smell bad or taste bad and you'll feel like you have to because I do it to you."

"Bella, stop." She does and looks up at me, her face like a shy little girl's and I can't help but smirk at her. "Come here," I say, patting the pillow on my lap, and after a moment, she does. I hold onto her, nuzzling her neck and her cheek, kissing her face, petting her hair; not sexual, just affectionate.

"If you're uncomfortable, we don't have to do that. Have you ever before?"

She nods.

"You didn't like it?" I ask, surprised.

"It was weird," she answers. "It was over fast."

I want to track down this loser and punch him in the face. Instead, I sigh and hold her closer, and she slips around on the pillow. I'm glad now that I'm covered, because naked Bella in my arms and thinking about licking her is getting me hard again. I kiss her ear, then suck the lobe between my teeth and pull a little. Her little studs clack against my teeth.

"Well, this is kind of a bummer," I say, and then lick and suck on her neck. "Because I really, really like doing that." She sighs and twists in my arms, tilting her head back. I run my thumb against her lips and then press. She sucks it in and I whisper in her ear.

"I've tasted you, Bella." I suck and scrape my teeth over her shoulder. "You taste delicious. Didn't you think so?" I lay her back on the bed and kiss her hard. She offers no resistance and before long, she's clutching at my hair and groaning. I move my hands over her body, touching, teasing and as one tension leaves her body, another begins to build. That's good. I want her like this, open and needy. I want to show her the things I can do with my tongue.

My hand drifts between her legs and she opens them for me. She's hot, soft and wet. She welcomes my touch because we both know how I can make her feel, and we both want it. That first night is still sharp in my mind, every detail, like it downloaded to my brain and I'm hitting the pause, fast-forward and rewind buttons at will.

I touch her and she feels perfect. I want everything, and all of it, right now.

"Will you let me try?" I ask.

Her face flushes and she nods, her eyes closed. I feel her tense and I don't want that, so I go back to touching her with my hand, pressing against her with my body. I'm dry humping her leg and trying not to, and her hips are starting to do that shaking thing, like she wants to move them but is afraid the good feeling will stop if she does. I've been lost, my mouth on her tits, and I almost forgot what I was trying to do.

I slowly make my way down her body. Her hips stop shaking and I feel her tense again. I ease her thighs apart and slide between them, then lick and bite at her belly, her sides. She's tickled and giggles, arching off the mattress in surprise. When she comes back down I lick and suck the insides of her thighs. She's tense again, and not the right kind, so I slip my fingers back inside of her, relaxing her with a now-familiar rhythm.

She's still a little tense when I go in. There are no soft kisses, no teasing touches. If I give her the chance to freeze up, she will. Instead I lick. I lick from where my fingers disappear inside of her right up to the top, right to the spot and as my tongue slides over it her hips arch up at me. Her flesh under my tongue is the smoothest, softest thing I've ever felt – just hot and almost liquid. Silk doesn't begin to describe it. I do it again and again and I feel her fighting it, fighting me, and so I take her clit in my mouth and soft, so soft, suck.

She arches off the bed and moans, and then there is no going back for either of us. I press my face into her, my tongue and my fingers working in tandem, and all I can think is yes, more, more. Before long, maybe minutes, she's pressing herself against me, her hips flicking up and down, fucking my face and I love it, I want it, love tasting her, love feeling the slick-hot insides of her as they twitch and then grab at my fingers, love feeling her clit throb under my tongue as she comes and comes and comes.

When she's done I slide my fingers out and lay gentle kisses up her body. I wipe my mouth on the inside of my elbow and then kiss against her neck and ear. I don't know if she'll kiss me now, but then she does, surprising me, pushing her tongue into my mouth and holding me there, fingers tight in my hair.

What I want more than anything is to pin her down and push my cock right up inside of her, but instead I pull my hips away and let her kiss me until she's done.

"Amazing," she pants. "Amazing. Thank you." She doesn't ask if I minded the smell or the taste, and I like that. I've shown her that it's good, and she lets me be responsible for deciding what I like and don't. She doesn't try to make decisions for me. And she trusted me. It makes me feel good, big, inside.

She rolls me over and reciprocates. She puts her mouth on me and then she puts my hands in her hair and she lets me fuck her mouth like that, her eyes on me the entire time. I want to tell her that it's not about reciprocity. It's not about getting something because I gave, because I didn't. She's the one who gives, her mouth and her body; her mind is an open door for me to walk through and she never turns me away.

It's too much, her mouth on me, bringing me off, while I can still smell her all over me, still taste her on my tongue and I start to push her off of me but then remember that she wants me in her mouth and so I let go and she takes me in, giving me more, and it feels like it goes on forever, because it's not just sex, it's something more than coming, it's something more, and when she nestles herself into my side and throws one of her legs over both of mine, I hold her, tight, and press hard kisses into her hair and swallow the words that I know I shouldn't say, but that are true, nonetheless.

.

It's been nine days of good. Nine days of seeing Bella every chance I get, of making her laugh and hearing her stories and feeding her dinner at a different restaurant almost every night. Nine days of skating up to her on the boardwalk, plucking the book out of her hands before dropping a kiss on her cheek and giving it back. Once she let me take her to class on the back of my bike, and it was thirty minutes up the 405, with her clinging to me, arms tight around my waist, her thighs gripping mine.

Nine days of her tongue in my mouth, her hands on my skin, her mouth tasting me everywhere, turning me inside out.

Nine days of feeling like shit, because I am such a fucking liar.

.

.

* * *

Another Paul/Rachel snippet in 2-4 weeks, then the 2nd part of epov in 4-6 weeks.

Thanks and praise go to both **Krismom** and **Danke George** for their mad beta skills. This would have sucked without them.

Love and gratitude to **HeBelongstoMe**, who pre-read and reassured. Also to FarDareisMai2. I'ma miss you, girl. :'(

**I am so blown away** by those of you reading and tweeting this. I thought I'd lose you all with that Paul/Rachel bit…but you…wonderful people – you stuck it out. I love you, I really, really do.

This week, I'm in love with: The Velveteen Mother, Boys Wanna Be Her, Finger Painting, Bourbon and Tea, and Disappear Here. They can be found in my favorites, and are SO worth your time.


	4. Interlude 2: Rachel and Paul

**Venice Beach Stories**

**Interlude, Pt. 2: Rachel and Paul**

.

.

"Please," I say. It's a prayer, a whisper.

He's pushed up against the wall, cornered from backing away from me. Fading summer light leaks in through the closed blinds. It's after five and we are alone.

"Please." His long hair is smooth and thick between my fingers as I lean up and press my face to his neck. He's already said no to me. He says it every time, but this time there's an edge to his voice. He smells sweet and salty, like solder and sweat, and my mouth waters.

"I thought I was here to talk about the showing next month. Quit fucking around with me." He tries to duck away but my fingers find the skin beneath his t-shirt. So warm, he burns.

"Rachel." His voice is low, but not a whisper. I can hear it, the fight inside of him. He wants to stop, but he wants me, too. He wants something I can't give him. Someone I can't be.

My hand slides up under his shirt, a fingernail scrapes across his nipple and I hear – and feel – him suck a breath. I press my open mouth against his jaw, tongue sliding out to taste him, feeling the sharp pricks of stubble – further evidence that he doesn't want this; he always comes to me clean shaven. I like it though, and press my cheek to it, feeling the scratch against my skin.

He presses his hands to my shoulders and pushes me back from him. It smarts, the loss of contact.

"Not like this," he says, and his hands push me further away.

I bring myself to meet his eyes, and it's exquisite torture. He is…breathtaking. He is shades of black and brown and his lips are flushed. I want to bite them, bite him, take him in until I'm whole. But all I do is tear him, and I can see the wariness in his eyes. Once he looked at me with the open love and trust of youth. He looked at me with hope and desire.

Now his desire is tainted, tinged with the things I need, the things I know he'll give me, even though we both hate ourselves for it, but for different reasons.

He pushes me back, until my thighs hit my desk. Something in him has shifted. He is predatory now, his eyes heavy and dark and I feel the flame of excitement loosing the desperation that's taken hold. He's giving in.

I fight the smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth and move to turn around. It's better when I don't have to see his face, see the ruin I'm making, while I'm making it.

His hand catches my shoulder and turns me back to face him.

"No. Like this." He dips down and his hand is on my leg. He pulls my calf up, then runs his hand up my leg until he reaches the top of my thigh. His hands are rough and calloused and the feel of them scraping against my soft flesh sends a shiver up my spine. His fingers hesitate at the inside of my thigh. He gathers the flesh and I brace for the pinch, my heart beats for it – but then he releases me and inside slides a finger across the lace of my panties.

He bends and lowers his mouth to mine. Panic starts to rise in my chest. I twist my face away. He kisses my neck, my cheek, my brow. All of them soft, all of them gentle.

My fingernails scrape into his skin. I can't take him being tender with me. But with every scrape and scratch, his mouth brushes my skin, feather soft and light. It's too much like praise, like worship. I don't deserve…any of this.

His fingers trace the neck of my blouse, then plunge deep into the V. The air is cold from the A/C, but my skin is hot and I'm sweating. He withdraws his finger and licks it, his eyes pinning me, wicked and needy. I can't escape his gaze, can't move until he moves.

His hand comes up to my face, cupping it, holding it in place. "Like this," he says and then his lips are on mine, and then his tongue is pushing into my mouth. He mouth is salty and soda-sweet and I hold my breath and close my eyes and for one minute only I become his. I am not Rachel Black, sister to Jacob and Rebecca, daughter of Billy and Sarah. I am not Rachel Black, agent for aspiring artists, representing the greater Los Angeles area. I am not Rachel the boss, Rachel the friend, Rachel the failure. I am only his, and I am deserving.

I yield to him and he takes me, his mouth, his fingers, they're soft on me, reverential. He kisses me like he's tasting me, like he's saving me up and then he draws away and ruins everything.

"I love you," he says. His eyes are clear and lucid but his words don't make sense.

"Don't," I answer. I shake my head and pull at his belt buckle. I can make us forget that he said it.

His fingers catch my hand.

"This is all I am to you?" He shoves up my skirt with one hand and pulls down his pants with the other. "This is all you want," he says. His fingers are hard and rough on my sex as he pushes my panties aside.

He's inside of me in a single thrust. It's hard and jarring and my whole body tenses with excitement. He has one hand on my shoulder and the other at the small of my back, and he's fucking me hard, the way he knows I like it, and the way I know he doesn't. His head is down and his eyes are closed, long hair falling over his shoulder, hiding his face.

Then he stills, and looks up at me, and his mouth is a feather again, on my neck, against my cheek, his lips hot against mine, tongue insistent. He slips his tongue into my mouth and I bite, hard enough for him to pull away.

He looks so sad, so wounded; I can't meet his gaze. The pieces that he made whole with his kiss shatter again and I tremble.

"Why can't you just let me love you?" he asks.

He slides out of me and I gasp. My ass is on the edge of the desk, legs open, arms bracing behind me. He takes a step away and I feel naked and shamed.

He stuffs himself into his jeans, and without a word, walks away.

This time, I don't even last a minute before the tears begin to fall.

* * *

**AN:**

**Krismom **is amazing. She's a talented author, a wife and a mother, and yet she still finds time to spend on me. My gratitude knows no bounds. Her latest o/s is titled **The Opposite of Everything** and is *wonderful.* If you liked The Velveteen Mother, check this one out as well.

This story has been successful beyond my imagination, and for that, I must thank *you.*** Thank you, reader**, for reading, reviewing, rec'ing and alerting. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

There's a couple of stories that have wow'd me recently: **Summer of Salt** by lola-pops, **Legendary** by whatsmynomdeplume, **Bourbon and Tea** by Zigster and **Mating in Captivity** by kisvakondok. **My absolute favorite wip** at the moment is **Disappear Here** by htothem.

Next update is epov. 2-4 weeks. And then we'll have some Rachel/Paul resolution in 4-6 weeks.


	5. epov, pt 2: Edward Gives it Up

**Venice Beach Stories: Edward Gives it Up**

.

.

_It's been nine days of good. Nine days of seeing Bella every chance I get, of making her laugh and hearing her stories and feeding her dinner at a different restaurant almost every night. Nine days of skating up to her on the boardwalk, plucking the book out of her hands before dropping a kiss on her cheek and giving it back. Once she let me take her to class on the back of my bike, and it was thirty minutes up the 405, with her clinging to me, arms tight around my waist, her thighs gripping mine._

_Nine days of her tongue in my mouth, her hands on my skin, her mouth tasting me everywhere, turning me inside out._

_Nine days of feeling like shit, because I am such a fucking liar._

.

I can't stop touching her. I mean, I can't be near her and not touch her. Fingers on her arm or in her hair, thigh pushed next to hers in a booth at a restaurant, all of it, all the time. All this time, I've been alone, and aside from the occasional fist bump from the guys, or the awkward, ass-out hugs from Rose, I don't touch other people. But now there's Bella, with her skin warm and her hair soft, falling into my hands and against my body. I didn't know how much I missed someone touching me until she did. So I can't get enough, and even though I'm trying not to push her, every time I touch her, she lets me.

She angles herself toward me all the time – the tilt of her head, or the way she puts her feet in my lap, or slips them under my thighs when we're watching television in her apartment. She tucks her hand into my arm when we walk down the street, and I like it. I like her. The way she kisses the corner of my mouth, and calls me 'incorrigible.' The way she slurps her spaghetti to make me laugh, or the way that she laughs at my eighth grade "yo mama" jokes. I like it all. More than like, but I can't tell her that yet.

.

Her birthday's coming up. Jasper tells me, and I feel lost. The things I want to give her – I want to give her everything – all seem like too much for someone I've been dating less than a month and not even fucking.

I think about jewelry, but aside from the little silver studs in her ears and a ring that was her grandmother's, she doesn't wear any. Still, I stopped in at an antique jewelry store one afternoon, just browsing, and gave myself the sweats when I realized I was looking at wedding sets and trying to decide if it she'd like an Edwardian or Victorian setting. I thanked the guy and went home, downing half a glass of Jameson's before my hands stopped shaking.

I'm still at a loss. I want to give her books and clothes and a new place to live. I want to give her a new car and a nice kitchen and fucking world peace so that she stops looking distracted when we listen to Public Radio International on the local NPR station. Instead, I settle on a stack of books. Each of them is a favorite of mine, and on the cover page, I write a note about why I chose it. I hope she understands it. I want her to know me. I just don't know how to say it.

.

It's September now and hot, still. I can't get over how warm it stays out here. Growing up in Chicago, things got cold, fast. It's one of the reasons I got the hell out of there. California is golden. Sunshine and ocean blue, the way the waves beat primal onto the shore, like the beating heart of earth itself.

I squint up at the palm trees and then smile at the girl next to me. Her hair's up in a ponytail and she's picking the polish off of her toes and then wiggling them at me. I grab one foot and press it to my mouth before she devolves into giggles and we're falling over, onto the ground. I smile at her and kiss the tip of her nose, before pulling her up and setting her to rights.

"I'm graduating in December," she says, the smile dying from her face. I don't want her words to mean anything, but they clutch up something inside of me because graduations mean change, and change could mean…her going away.

"Yeah?" I ask, my tone neutral. We're walking along the boardwalk and I drop my board onto the ground and set her on it. I settle my hand at her waist and push her along. She told me two days ago that it's her new favorite thing. Right now I could use some favorite things on my side.

"Yeah," she says. "I don't – I don't know what I'm going to do." She answers my unasked question. It's too early for us to start making long-term arrangements. I know this. But part of me growls at the idea of her leaving. It's been almost four weeks and it hasn't been enough. It will never be enough, I think, not really.

"What do you want to do?"

She laughs and holds up her hands. "I have no idea." She smiles, chagrinned.

I can't help but chuckle with her. "Well what do you like?"

She shrugs and I ease her and the board over a bit of sand. "Books. I like reading. And…I like being helpful. Useful."

I can see this about her. The way I've seen her tending to Paul, the way her eyes take everything in, like she's always checking up on people. How she rubs under my eyes some mornings and tells me to go back to sleep before she leaves for class.

"I've been thinking about maybe Library Sciences," she says and then punches my arm when I can't contain my laughter.

"Maid Marion, Madame Librarian?" I ask. She steps one foot off the board and stares at me, mouth open.

"You know The Music Man?"

"I wasn't raised by wolves, Bella. It was kind of hard to miss."

"But, you're a boy," she says.

"Shut up," I say, but I keep smiling. My instinct is to react to her mocking, to shut her out. But it feels kind of nice, her teasing me. "When I was a kid, my grandma used to take me to plays, and to the symphony. She called it our date nights, and after we'd go for ice cream sundaes." She stares at me and the softness in her eyes makes me feel naked. Standing behind her, I pop her back up on the board and give her a little push.

"So is that a master's degree? A Ph.D?"

"Masters. My dad asked me to come home after graduation, so I could end up at U-dub. Or there's a program in Fullerton, or San Jose, if I want to stay out here." She watching her feet on the board and her voice becomes distant, small.

"Nor Cal, huh? It's nice up there."

"Yeah," she says and before the conversation can get any more strained, one of the wheels catches a rock and the board flies out from under her. My hands tighten around her waist and then I've got her, picking her up and swinging her around before I set her down and chase off after the board.

I grab it and return to her, her eyes, mouth smiling.

"You okay?" I ask, and she nods.

"Bella?"

"Edward?"

"Would you like to come to my house tonight?"

The smile that spreads across her face is slow and so beautiful it makes my chest ache.

.

I'm running around the house, doing laundry and changing the sheets out and ordering too much Thai food because I think somehow if everything looks right, that it will _be_ right. That she'll be alright.

I've weighed the risks and the benefits. I know that Rose will be furious…just…furious. I remember Jasper telling me to slow down and be sure before I do anything that could hurt us all. Then I remember the look on Emmett's face, when he agreed to check the plants for me because I wanted to take Bella for a long ride down the coast and I needed an early start. He looked at me with something like respect.

"You really like this girl," he said. Not a question.

"Yeah. I really do."

"What if she's not okay with this?" he asked and the answer that came to my mind, the one I didn't say, was that I'd give it all up.

I don't know where the fuck that will leave me, and I know it's stupid, it's my own damn fault, and I hope it doesn't come to that, because 2 years of music theory is probably only good for playing piano in shitty bars, and I know that's not really an option. I don't know what the fuck my options are. But being without her, well, that's not an option either. Motherfucked.

I put it out of my mind as I run the vacuum cleaner once more. Rose left some sweet smelling candles here once, and so I light a few, and the whole house smells like lemon cookies. Which shouldn't be a surprise, since that's the name on the candle.

But before dusk can get a grip on the daylight, she's here.

I open the door and before I can even kiss her, the Thai deliver guy is there. I pay him and take the box of food to the table. There are meat dishes and noodle dishes and she kind of swoons over the coconut milk soup, but wrinkles up her nose and ewws when I tell her that the beef is in oyster sauce. I feed her a bite of gingered beef instead, and she smiles and then moans.

"Oh my god, that's so good. It's like a party in my mouth!"

"Yeah, and everybody's coming." My brain must have disengaged at some point, because I cannot believe I just said that.

Bella stares at me, mouth open and shocked, before she dissolves into a gale of laughter. She's leaned over, clutching her stomach and I'm so grateful that I laugh too. She's turning pink, and then red, and her eyes are watering by the time she starts to calm down. She gives me this look, and it's a lot like the look she gets right after I make her come, like she's delighted with me. I smile at her and she's grinning at me, and we're just staring like fools until she reaches across me for a sip of my coke.

She smiles at me once more, before going back to her food. She lets me feed her bites of this and that until we're both so full, we can practically feel it in our throats.

I walk her through the house and try to see it through her eyes. What does she think of Rosalie's baking racks, full of brownie mix and marshmallows and bins of sugar and flour? She notices the carpet, where it's stained, and says she'll help me get the stains out. It feels good, to have her caring for me, but then I feel bad, because I'm supposed to be taking care of her.

We make it to my bedroom and she stares at the bed. It's a king and covered in all those foofy little pillows that came with the set. I sent Rose to pick it out for me, and this is the first time those pillows have been on the bed. Bella runs her fingers over the coverlet and I wonder if she's thinking about me in that bed like I've been thinking about her in that bed.

"That's a lot of pillows," she says.

"Yeah, they, uh, came with the bedspread," I say. I don't want to tell her that Rose insisted that I use them, because now I feel like a bitch, or like I'm trying too hard, which I am.

"Looks comfy," she says, and then takes my hand and pulls me back toward the living room.

And yeah, it would have been fucking fantastic if she'd pull me down onto the bed and let me inside of her, but everything about tonight feels like a test, and I'm pretty sure that fucking her right now would be a massive fail.

"Want to watch a movie?" I ask, lacing our fingers together.

"Sure."

We're half laying on the couch and she's snuggled into my side. Our stomachs still hurt from all the food. I would really love a bongload right now, but that's probably not the best idea. Although she says she doesn't mind, I try not to smoke too much around her, because I don't think she quite approves of my habit, and how often in indulge.

My hand traces along her side, and all I'm thinking is how good she feels under my hands, how good she smells, how much I want to just make her laugh and be inside of her and touch her and hear every little thing going on inside her head. The feeling pinches at my heart, squeezes it, and I can't say it to her without looking like an overeager ass, so I say something else, and ruin everything.

"Bella? How come we're not having sex?"

I know I should regret saying it, but I don't. It's like she built this arbitrary line and that's okay if that's what she wants, but I don't think it is, because I see her, the way she arches for me, the way she grunts with frustration because my fingers aren't quite enough, and I want to know why she's holding back.

Bella sits up and looks at me. She looks calm, not really pissed, and I'm glad about that. And then she sighs, and it sounds so sad that I just want to hold her tight until she smiles again. Instead, she shifts away from me, and then she takes my hand in her fingers. Everything about her tells me that she's in love with me. Everything about her tells me that she feels exactly what I'm feeling, because we are simpatico with everything. Except that when life fucks with her, she finds this way of rolling it off, and when it fucks with me, I fuck with it back.

"I feel like," she says, and I suck in a breath, stretching my lungs because I'm scared of what she'll say. "I feel like you're holding back with me. So I'm holding back with you." She doesn't look at my face, but stares and my hand in her hands instead. That's something, isn't it? How she's still holding on to me?

"Come on," I say, and take her hand with mine. I take her to my office, and I watch her eyes as she takes in the big flat-screen monitors and the huge towers under the desk. She eyes the shelf, full of bongs in various sizes, with a few really nice glass pipes too. Most of them were gifts, but they all mean something to me. And sure, they're not debate team trophies, but they're mine.

We cross the room to the garage. I want to stop and say something. I want to find something that will make this okay, but I don't know what that is, and if I stop, I'll blow it. So I open the garage door and take her down the steps. It's fucking hot and humid out here, the lights are on eight hours a day for two more weeks before the plants come down.

"Come on," I say again. I pull her up next to me. I put my hand on the doorknob. And I open the door.

I don't say anything as she takes it all in. The plants look great. They're fat and high and the buds are growing in thick. The air is heavy with the smell, thick and green and it almost makes my mouth water. There are crystals forming on the fine, red hairs that grow around the bud, and I can tell this is going to be a great crop.

I drop Bella's hand, and walk into the room. Eighty plants on two tables with a walkway between. I stick my finger into the dirt and it's still moist enough. They won't need watering today.

I look at Bella and she's looking around the room. She takes in the signs I've put up, advising law enforcement that this is a licensed grow house in the eyes of the county. DEA won't give a shit, and the local cops would probably never bust me, but it can't hurt to have them up.

Without a word, she turns around and walks back into the house.

She's looking for her bag, and my stomach twists up in knots.

"Bella? Can we talk about this?"

I've just handed her my biggest secret. She could make one phone call and fuck my life a hundred times over. I don't think it's too much to ask the girl to talk to me.

Instead, she shakes her head, she says, "I can't," and she walks out of the front door.

I don't even try to sleep. I call her twenty times, I drive by her house and she's not there. I drive by Paul's and her truck is there, and the kitchen light is on. I hate that she's turning to another guy, and I'm grateful to him for being there for her.

I go home and pace around the house. I smoke a fuckload of pot. I finger the ribbon that was on the box of books I gave her for her birthday, and remember the way she smiled at the first one, at the first page, where she saw what I'd written.

Everything in me hurts and when Rose shows up the next day she takes one look at me and stays away. Even she knows to let it alone, at least for today.

.

I knock on the door and Paul answers. He's wearing shorts and no shirt and his hair is in a braid down his back. He's taller than me, but not by much. I want to punch him for walking around half dressed in front of Bella, but I know I should be grateful. I need him, and it pisses me off.

"Ed," he says and turns away, leaving me to follow after him. Dick.

I follow him outside, and he pulls on a welder's mask and a jacket to cover his arms and chest. He sparks up the torch and fires the metal, until two disparate pieces of junk become something like wings on the back of some kind of gargoyle-like cement creature. At least, that's what I think it is.

He turns off the torch and puts it down. The weather's cooling off, but it's still hot, standing there, waiting for him. He pulls off the mask and tosses down the jacket. He's sweating all over and I get it. The garden gets hot as shit sometimes, but work is work.

"She's trying," he says. I don't know what that means. Trying to get okay with me? Trying to get over me? I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that I need her. That I'll tear everything out if she'll just let me talk to her. I can figure the rest of it, but I know that I need her.

Which is why I showed up knocking at his door, because Jasper told me that I should, that Paul was a good guy, and that Bella'd looked like she's been crying last night.

I nod, and he says "she misses you."

And suddenly he's not such a dick anymore.

"Just give her some space," he says, and yep, he's a dick. Doesn't he know I can't fucking breathe?

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means give her a little room to work it out in her head. She has to think everything through. She – she's the kind of girl who always prepares for the worst. She's trying to imagine the worst, and see if she can live with it. She's trying."

"How much time?" I ask, because I have to know.

He shrugs.

I say "thanks, man," and see myself out. I should be more grateful, but it doesn't really feel like he gave me anything, and what I need is a lifeline.

.

Three nights later there's a knock on my door. I am not as stoned as I'd like to be, but the air in the living room is blue with smoke.

I think about just ignoring it when I hear her voice call out to me. I look around the room, look at myself, and cringe. I haven't shaved, but at least I'm clean. Standing under the spray of the shower has always been soothing to me, and I've been draining the water heater as fast it can warm up.

My heart hammers in my chest as I walk to the door and open it.

She stands there under the yellow glow of the front porch light. I open the door for her to come in and she does.

She looks…she looks like shit, as bad as me maybe, but she's still beautiful under her too-pale skin and messy hair. Her eyes are a little glassy and I wonder if she's sick.

"How are you?" I ask.

"Okay," she says, and neither of us calls out the lie.

She takes a deep breath getting ready to speak. She's not touching me, and I know this will be bad.

"It's just," she starts, then stops, and pulls her lower lip into her mouth. "My dad's a cop," she says. "I mean, he's a cop, and you're a – a – a _drug_ dealer. How do I make that okay?"

"What?" The word explodes out of me. "Jesus, Bella, I'm not a fucking dealer. Shit." I start to pace in the living room and I notice her looking at everything. The big flat screen T.V. The stacks of video games, and the consoles. The furniture, the real artwork on the walls. Everything is nice and everything says money. I can't hide that. I shouldn't have to.

"I run a co-op," I say. It's legal in the state, but county laws vary, and the DEA, well, they can bust me at any time."

"It's drugs."

"It's pot Bella. It's pot and it grows in dirt and it's fucking legal in this state." I want to quiet down, to slow down, but I can't. I'm so tired of all the bullshit, from big pharma working to keep this shit illegal, to the people who go to the elections not knowing anything more than the bullshit the Reagan era crammed down their throats. Just Say No and gateway drugs and all that bullshit.

"It's legal, Bella." I say again. "It's legal and it fucking – it helps people. It helps people who have pain and who can't eat and who are fucking dying. I don't sell to kids, I sell to a legal co-op and they distribute it to people with prescriptions. It's fucking legal."

Bella just stood there and watched me. I wanted to climb inside her head and figure out what she was thinking. I wanted her to talk to me, but mostly I wanted to calm the fuck down before I blew it with her for good.

"Don't yell," she says, and it levels me. Every bit of fight falls away and I'm left, naked, with my fears and my hurt and my heart in my hands, for this pretty girl.

"I'm sorry," I say, and it's barely a whisper.

"Explain how it's legal," she says, so I do. I take her through the conflicting laws, laying it bare for her. As much as I want her, I can't lie to her. If she's going to be here with me, I need it to be here, with me. By choice, not tricks.

"Could you go to jail?" she asks, and I swallow. I go into the kitchen and get a coke, and get one for her too.

I crack the can open and then I look her in the eyes. "Yeah."

Her face falls.

"It's not going to happen though. The local police don't give a fuck, they're way more interested in busting the clubs than they are in busting me. Busting someone for doing something in a home they own, that's technically legal in the state, is not something the cops want making headlines. And the DEA is more interested in busting the big guys. I'm nothing."

Bella studies me. She studies the can in her hands and a tear rolls down her face. I feel like a dick for just standing there, watching her cry, but what am I supposed to do? Lie and tell her that there's no potential risk? Bullshit.

She's standing there, watching me, wary as fuck and I don't know what the right thing to say is. The idea that those few weeks is all I get, that somehow this could all evaporate now…I can't. No. But then she turns, with her face to the door, like she's going to leave, and so I say the only thing that I can think of, the prayer I've been saying for days now, the thing I have to get through to her.

"Please, Bella."

She turns and looks at me, and she's so drawn up inside of herself, just big dark eyes and all that hair, and for the first time everything she's thinking, or feeling, isn't playing out in her eyes, isn't clear across her face.

"I don't…what is it you want, Edward?" And then I see it in her, she's looking at me, like I can somehow make this right. She's going to let me try to make this right.

I reach out for her hand, and she looks at it, then at me, and she takes a step closer. That's it, it's all I need. I pull her into my arms and at first she's solid and then she's softer, and still looking at me, like I might know everything after all.

"Just let me inside, inside of you." The words stutter out of me because if she can be so honest, then so can I.

She looks up at me with her brown eyes, big and full of something, like she's maybe afraid? I bend down and touch my lips to hers.

"Let me be yours," I whisper against her mouth. "Be mine."

Her sigh falls across my lips and it feels like an invitation so I open them to taste her and it's slow and soft, like a first kiss, like our first kiss, and then she's got her arms around me, fingers in my hair and it feels like there's a gulf inside of my chest because I thought I might not have this again. Her arms wind up until they're tight around me, pulling me down, trying to pull herself up onto me, so I pick her up by the backs of her thighs and she wraps her legs around my waist and she's making that soft, needy noise in the back of her throat, the one she makes when we kiss like this, the one that tells me she wants more.

"Let me be yours," I say against her mouth. She nods against mine and I stumble to my bedroom and ease her back onto the pillows and she's like a queen there, a princess, and I want to keep her that way.

I kiss down her neck. "Be mine."

The dip at the base of her throat. "Be mine."

My hand at her waist and mouth at the hollow behind her ear. "Let me."

The other ear, the freckle on her earlobe. "Let me be yours."

My knee's between her legs, and she's wiggling down, rubbing against it. "Please, Bella."

The crush of her breasts against my chest, soft and heavy as she pushes up against me. "Please let me."

Her mouth finds mine then, hot and soft and sucking, and she's breathing hard, and I breathe her in, staying until it's not enough and then I move down, pressing my face against her stomach, lifting her shirt to feel her warm skin against my face. My hands are at her sides and I'm begging her, talking, over and over, saying "be mine," and she's answering me, "yes, yes, Edward, yes," until finally I hear her. I look up

She's smiling down at me. "Silly boy," she says, and her face is soft, like she's about to cry. "You think I can be without you?"

She smiles that beautiful smile again, the one that makes me feel like a superhero, and the words are on my tongue and I'm in her face, so ready, so fucking ready.

"Bella." I don't even recognize my voice, and I know it's all over my face, and I don't even want to hide it.

She puts her hand over my mouth. "I know," she says. "Me too." And then her lips are on mine and I don't care about anything else, anything in the world but this girl, here with me. I feel like…I've won. I've finally won, I didn't even know there was something to win, but I did it, I won her, her trust and her faith and I know I'll always need it, need her.

Then she's frantic again; we both are. Mouth and tongues and taste and clothes off, pushed away. Her skin, so soft, hot slide of her, wet on my fingers, and I want it, want in and I look into her eyes and she's nodding and saying "please, yes, please, baby" and I am. I am her baby and it feels so fucking good to be hers.

My cock is fucking throbbing between us and I fuss with the fucking condom and then I'm over her, on top of her and the world slows, her breathing slows and we're slow, kissing soft and careful, kissing full and deep, with my fingers between us, working us both up until she whines and says my name.

Then it doesn't matter because I'm inside, inside her and it all dissolves around me to nothing but skin and sweat and sweet, mouth and pussy and I'm working hard to go slow, to show her what I shouldn't say, shouldn't think, but what I feel. Glide in and the tip of her hips is like a beat, like a present, the way she rises to meet me, her eyes locked on me, begging me with a look that's almost like pain, but I hear the pleasure in her voice. Then she's up on her elbows again, looking down between us and I look too and we're almost cheek to cheek, sweat against skin, and I want, I want, want it, want her and she's pushing back at me and her eyes are on me, like she's shocked and then she's nodding at me, beautiful girl.

I look down again and she starts shaking, I can feel it coming, coming through her, and I whisper into her ear all the dirty sweet things in my head and she's nodding and snaking her hand between us, pressing and rubbing and then she's gone, limbs loose and head back, but inside she's got me, hard and hot and tight. I rock her, rock against her, gentle, easy, helping her through, and she looks up at me, sleepy eyes. I would stop now if I could, just let her fall down into sleep but I can't, my body, I need her, need this. I want to rip the condom off and feel her, completely. I want more of her, her arms around my neck and hands on my back, her legs, soft skin, pulling me in, pulling me closer, her mouth, and the sounds, the sounds she makes, breathing hard and hot and gasping, saying fuck and fuck me and fuck yes, taking my words and spinning them back to me until there's nothing left, not me, not her, just us, just good. The best.

When I come down she's holding me tight and kissing my neck, my cheek, and then runs her fingernails into my hair. She pets me, her nails sharp but they feel so good, and I'm pissed about the condom because I want to just stay here in her arms. Instead I pull away and pull it off and drop it into the trash and wipe my fingers on the sheets. She looks up at me and wrinkles her nose and I laugh. It comes out of me like a pop, a shot, but I'm almost used to it, how easy everything with her is.

I pull her into my arms and she comes, soft and smelling like sweet and sex. I'm exhausted but my hands are relentless, skimming and touching and tangling in her hair. I'm keeping her, I think. I'm keeping her and she's going to be mine and as her lips move across my jaw, I know that this is it.

I twist around and catch her eyes. "I love you," I say. No fanfare, no grand gestures, just my heart.

She nods and presses her mouth against mine. It's soft. It's tender, and I feel amazing because she didn't get skittish and she didn't pull away. She's just taking me as I am.

She pulls her mouth away from mine, but I can still feel her breath on my lips. "I love you," she says. It's a whisper. It's hot breath against my skin. It feels like the Fourth of July in my heart.

I know there's still stuff to talk about. I know that I may have to make some serious lifestyle changes, but I also know that it'll be okay. If she is with me, it'll be okay.

**AN:** The people of the State of California have determined that marijuana is an acceptable treatment for a variety of medical issues. Laws vary greatly from city to city and county to county. However, marijuana continues to be illegal in the eyes of the federal government. No portion of this story should be taken as legal opinion or advice.

**My apologies **for taking so long. My computer ate this TWICE and I had to give up on it for a bit. My thanks to M and J for their relentless dogging. :)

**Thank you, Readers,** all of you. I am **endlessly** humbled by your kindness over these tales.

**FarDareisMai2 and Krismom** gave this their beta love. I continue to be **hopelessly** in their debt, and adoring in every way.

The next segment of this will be the conclusion of the Paul/Rach arc. After that will be Jasper and then perhaps Emmett and Rosalie. I make no promises on when their smutty little stories will be available. My primary focus is Of Kith and Kin, but I do adore these beach kids. :)


	6. Paul and Rachel Find Communion

**Venice Beach Stories: **

**Paul and Rachel Find Communion**

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**Chapter Warning:** This chapter contains light BDSM. If you would prefer not to read that, but want to find out how their story ends, PM me and I'll tell you.

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_**Rachel**_

My mother died when I was fourteen, and the last thing she said to me was "take care of them."

So I do. I pay Jake's tuition and I call Dad to remind him to take his meds, and I pay for an assistant to make sure he eats and I run home every chance I get. Sarah is in Hawaii and no longer my problem. Instead of worrying about her, I call studios and galleries. I scout for new talent and I find agents and make introductions, and make sure the caterer brings brie and not cheddar. I do all of these things, and I stop at the dry cleaners and I take a client out for drinks, and I meet an old friend for dinner so he can pump me for information about the hot new things that are usurping his value. At night, when it's over, I fall into bed and I sleep—solid and dreamless, and motionless too—waking sore and stiff, but it's nothing a good long run won't shake loose, with the beat driving me and driving me, pushing me to become faster and better and stronger and more.

I am titanium. I have to be.

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Paul's show was a success, just like I knew it would be. I smiled at everyone and chatted up the buyers, and directed all the art kids to the bar. They're just there for the booze; they don't give a fuck about art. Everything sold but the best piece, the one he wouldn't let me put a tag on—an angel from the front, a monster from behind. He says it's going up in his back yard.

He also says he'll find a new agent if I put my hands on him again.

The moment he leaves, I flip through my rolodex, looking for an introduction to make. If that's all it takes to keep him in my life, I'm willing to make the trade. Let someone else cater to his artistic whims.

But as I realize that no one is good enough, I also realize that's not what he meant. The realization that this might be it feels like a stab, like a quake, and before it really takes root, I box it up and put up on a high shelf, to be looked over some other day. I hope it doesn't accidentally spring open, but you never know with things like that.

It's a warm October night, and the Santa Ana winds are hot and furious as they strip through the town. Silver Lake is pretty, peaceful and sleepy, and I like it here, in the quiet, nestled at the mouth of the canyon. I'm not exhausted, so I can't sleep. My thighs press together and I become aware of the hunger, the itch that's building between them. I moan and turn over, and press my hand between my legs, and find that I am soft and wet and ready. My fingers slide through the sticky heat and then I think that this could work. So I try. I press and stroke and rub, over and around and then I pinch and squeeze and push, and after ten minutes I give up because it's not fun or even interesting anymore.

I think about Paul and how he touches me, the bite of pain cutting through the soft and the sweet, making me hurt, making me give in, give in to him and his safe harbor. I wish I didn't need him, and I hate him a little for it. I twist in the sheets again, the ache inside of me thirsting and needful, and I know I'll see the sunrise before I see sleep.

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I call Paul and ask if he'll see me, and I use the only lure I have: I promise that it's just to talk. He loves me, but it's the wrong way. I can't be what he wants, and he hates himself when he becomes what I need, and I can't tell him why it has to be that way because I don't know.

I'm not good enough for him, and I don't know how to be better. It's taking everything I've got just to keep the wheels on and running. I can't put another ball in the air without everything falling apart.

Yesterday the bank called to clear an overdraft for Jake's account. I forgot to transfer the money for his books, and I was grateful that they'd covered the charge so that he wasn't embarrassed. Still, it was the only thing I could think of all day. I felt too hot in my skin, too tight in it, like it needed to come off, so that I could get out.

Paul agrees to see me and asks if we can meet at my place. The idea, the thrill, of fucking him in my own house is so strong that I say yes in a breathy pant. It's not until he arrives that I realize how strange his request was. He has only been here twice, and each time it was only to move heavy things.

He arrives at seven holding a bottle of champagne – the good stuff. The great stuff. It makes me feel silly and goes right to my head, but I'm not sure why he's trying to butter me up. Or rather, I am, but he's wrong. I just can't be like that.

We sit at my massive dining room table and it's all so very civilized: the chicken fettuccini with wild mushroom sauce. The roasted asparagus. The vanilla sorbet with toasted pound cake and raspberry coulis.

We eat in almost silence. There's the noise of chewing, of forks and knives against fine china. There's the occasional shuffle as Paul rearranges himself. When he looks down, I can look at him. His long hair is tied at the nape of his neck with a leather thong. He has high cheekbones and his skin looks warm, flushed a little. He's been working in the sun too much.

"You're not wearing sunscreen," I say. "It's been hot."

He drops his fork and looks up at me, a sad smile on the corner of his mouth. "Really, Rach? We're gonna talk about the weather?"

Before I have to answer, the phone in my home office rings. We listen to the sound, but I don't answer. Then my Blackberry rings and I excuse myself to take the call.

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_**Paul**_

She's gone long enough that I decide to chase her down. When I do, she's sitting at her desk, head in her hands. She looks like she's trying to hold up the sky; doesn't she know she's just one girl?

I return to the table and wait. If anything, seeing her like that helped. I drain my glass of champagne, wishing I'd brought tequila instead, something strong to put the fire in my veins because I'm going to need it. Tonight will be hard, but maybe that means that tomorrow will be easy. That's what I want.

Rachel returns to the table and we both look at each other in silence. I know what she wants, what she needs. She's wound so tight she's almost shaking.

I place my hand on the table, palm up.

"Do you trust me?"

I've taken her by surprise, her dark brown eyes growing wide. She doesn't respond, so I ask again.

"Do you trust me?"

Her hand falls into mine, soft and so, so small.

"Of…of course."

"You know that I would never harm you, right? I would never do anything on purpose to harm you."

"What's…you're scaring me. What's going on?"

I rise and stand behind her. I gather her hair in my hands and run my fingers through it. "I want to try something," I say, leaning close to speak in her ear. "But you have to trust me, and you have to know that you're safe with me. Do you know that?"

She nods her head, and I can see the flush across her chest, creeping up from the neck of her blouse.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the scarf. I hold it in front of her face for a moment, then tie it, tight, around her eyes.

"Are you okay?"

She nods, but doesn't speak.

I pull her to stand before me, and run my fingertips over her skin; her arms, her chest, up her neck, over the apples of her cheeks. I watch as she begins to lose herself in the sensation, and then she tenses, coming back out of it.

I lean close to whisper in her ear, but not close enough to touch her. "For tonight, for as long as you have this blindfold on, you're mine. Do you understand?"

Rachel nods, but I know she doesn't understand, and neither do I, not really. I'm taking a chance, a gamble that this is what she needs, whether she knows it or not.

"When you have this on," I tug at the blindfold, "you are to do exactly what I say, and only what I say. Can you do that for me?" _Let me help you. Let me do this. Trust in me._

Another nod.

"Good girl." When I say those words, she relaxes. She leans back on her heels and her shoulders drop a bit. It's then that I realize I was right: she _needs_ this.

I begin to remove her clothing, and watch as the tension gathers. I don't know if it's good tension or bad tension though, because this is so goddamned new to us both. She lifts her hand to help, her fingers going to her slacks, and I slap her hand away.

"You don't even trust me to take off your clothes? Or are you that excited?"

Her head bows; she's chastised.

I finish removing her clothes without incident. The slow revelation of her body, all that soft, skin, it makes me want to fall to my knees and hold her, rock her slow until she takes me in her arms and loves me, makes love to me. But that thought helps me to refocus. If I can give her what she needs, then maybe she can give me what I want.

I walk behind her, running my fingers over her again. I want her to know where I am, but I also want her to be a little on edge.

When I slap her ass, she starts, and pushes her hands out in front of her, looking for something to hold onto. I have her though, my arm around her waist, and she leans into it as I slap her again. Her skin pinks front my hand and it's beautiful, like a summer berry, the pink under the brown.

I lean up and kiss her neck as my hand massages the skin I just smacked. She likes it, starts breathing heavy, and I know that the tension I feel coming from her is the right kind.

"Did you like that, baby? Answer me." _Tell me yes, because I don't know what else to do._

"I…I don't know."

"Should I do it again, so we can find out?"

She's quiet for a moment and when she takes too long to answer, I give her nipple a hard pinch.

"Yes! Yes, please."

"Yes you like it, or yes I should do it again?"

"Both. Both."

I feel like I'm reading from a bad script, but so far, she seems to like it.

I lead her to the table and put one of her hands down on top of it. "Brace yourself," I say, and she does.

With the flat of my hand, I slap her ass a few times, until she starts pushing it out at me, looking for more. I remember the things that I've read, the things about keeping control when we're in a "scene," so I stop, pull back.

"Uht-uh." I lean over her body, but don't touch her. "Did I tell you to push your ass out at me?"

"N-no."

"Then don't" _slap_ "do it" _slap_ "again." _Slap._

She moans on the last smack and the sound, her pleasure, finally makes me hard.

I massage her ass again, then run my hands all over her body. I didn't think I would like this – having her open and waiting on me-having her at my disposal.

I pull her up, her back to my chest, and run my hands along her front, pinching her nipples and then squeezing her breasts. They're full and heavy and fucking perfect. She rubs her ass against me, then realizes what she's done and stays herself.

"Good girl." I lick the curve of her ear and rub my hands between her thighs. She opens them to me and when my hand reaches her apex, I find her wetter than she's ever been.

"Hmmm…" I hum against her neck, my fingers sliding in and out of her. I feel the soft flutter of her inside that tells me she's close…so close.

"I don't know if I should bend you over and fuck you now…or if I want you on your knees with your mouth on my cock."

I pinch her clit, softly, and when she doesn't react, I pinch I harder. She gasps and says please. Please. I needed that, God, yes. I need to hear from her that I'm doing this right, that she's getting what she needs.

"Can you be a good girl for me?"

She nods her head. I turn her around to face me and her skin is flushed, so flushed. She's breathing heavy and I feel like it won't take much to make her come, and that's what I want, but, everything I've read says that would be wrong, so I don't.

Instead I take her mouth. I kiss her and let my tongue slide against her lips, then her tongue. I put my hands in her hair and I cup her face to mine and I show her with the kiss that I'm hers, all hers. That I'll do whatever it takes to make her mine.

She surprises me. She leans into me and the kiss she gives back is softer, sweeter, than any she has ever given me. It feels good, having her soft for me. So, so good.

I break the kiss and push down on her shoulders. She goes, her hands holding onto my body, until she's down, her face turned up to mine.

I stroke her cheek. I hate that I can't see her eyes. She has the most beautiful eyes.

"Take out my cock, and suck it like you mean it."

She fumbles for a moment, her hands uncertain on my belt.

"Now."

She draws a breath and does as she's told, and within a moment I'm inside her mouth and it's good, Jesus Christ, so good.

She has never done this for me before: our twisted relationship always demanded a quick fuck against a wall, in a chair, in a car. We've never made time for the niceties.

She holds onto my thigh with one hand and strokes me into her mouth with the other. I start to pant and groan, watching her work me over.

"God that's good, baby, so good."

I put my hand on the back of her head and give a small push to correct her timing. She embraces the direction, holding onto my thigh with one hand while holding my ass with the other, urging me to thrust, so I do.

Her mouth is incredible, tongue swirling on every pass, pushing hard at the underside of my cock, hitting the sweet spot, tongue dancing over it. Her teeth come out, and for a moment, I tense, but the way she uses them, soft on the shaft, a little sharper on the head, it makes me want more, makes me want to fuck her mouth and be ungentle.

She slides off with a pop and tilts her head up to me. Her voice is soft and uncertain, like she doesn't know what my answer will be.

"Will you fuck me?"

"Fuck. Yes."

She sits back on her heels for a moment and then bends forward, on all fours. She's showing me what she needs, and I want to give it to her. I ease in behind her, stroking her hair off of her neck, running my fingers down her bare back. She is so, so beautiful.

"Is this what you want, baby?"

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_**Rachel**_

He's in my mouth and I'm on my knees, and all I can think is how right this is. How right it feels to be on my knees for him, feeling him push into my mouth, so soft and iron hard, the smoothness pushing at the back of my throat, and I know that I just want to please him.

If I could make him come like this, feel him spurt into my mouth, know that I'm the one who did that, who gave that to him...the throb between my legs tells me how good that would be.

He holds the back of my head and thrusts into my mouth, but it's shallow. I want it harder, but I think he's doing the best he can. That he's doing this at all sends a thrill to the pit of my stomach. That he would give me this. It only makes me want to please him more.

My clit pulses with every thrust into my mouth, and I feel his thighs begin to tense. He's panting above me, his fingers digging in to my hair. I want it tighter, harder, but I can feel his restraint. Still, he's scared to hurt me, even though he knows that, at least a little bit, is what I want.

I slip my mouth off of him and tilt my face to his. I have to ask him this, and while I'm sure I know the answer, I can't assume, don't want to assume. I want to give him the choice.

"Will you fuck me?"

"Fuck. Yes."

I sit back on my heels and then position myself before he has the chance. He said yes, now I'm showing him how.

His fingers slide down my slit, and I can feel how wet I am, just from sucking him off. Just from the spanking, which turned me on like nothing else has, ever. He's given me what I want before I knew I wanted it. That's how much he loves me.

When he slides inside of me, it's like nothing I've ever felt before. My body, my feelings, are reduced to that one thing – the one place where we're joined.

His first push is gentle, but as he finds his rhythm, it's increasingly less so. I feel his fingers on my skin, my back, and then he's gathering my hair up in his hand, twisting it around his fist. In this position, I'm helpless. My head yanked back means I can breathe, but not scream, so short, panting grunts fall from my mouth. It's not pretty, the sounds that I make, but I can't care about that because he's inside of me, filling me, and the only thing that matters is that with every thrust, he is claiming me, marking me as his own.

The tidal wave of emotion and sensation is too much, and I come hard, harder than I ever have before. He reaches around me with one hand and twists my nipple, vicious and sharp, and the pain slices through the wonder, bringing me back into the present where I feel this, feel him, feel…everything. It's intense, and my climax goes on and on and on.

When I'm done I'm panting and hoarse. He lets my hair down and slows his pace, but I show him, with a thrust of my hips, that I don't want that, not even in this moment where I feel I can barely hold myself up.

He takes my cue and pushes into me hard again, moving faster and faster. I feel like a toy, made just for him. I feel like a thing, like an object, not degraded, but exalted, because I am a receptacle, a vessel for his pleasure. It's heaven.

He thrusts against me hard, once, twice, and then he stills and I know he's coming, though he doesn't breathe a word.

When he's done, he pulls the scarf from my eyes before he removes himself from my body. He leans over me, raining kisses along my spine, kissing my shoulders, the back of my neck. His fingers stroke my skin, and in every move, I feel his love. It's only now, on the heels of my submission, that I feel worthy. Deserving.

"Are you okay?" His whisper is just behind my ear, and I can't hide the smile on my face.

"So good," I say. "Thank you."

"It was okay?"

"It was perfect. Thank you."

And then, because he gave to me, I know that I can give to him. I slip up from under him and hold my hand out to him.

He looks up at me, a little wary, a little nervous, and I smile. When I feel his cum dripping down my thigh, I smile a little wider, though it's a smile meant for me, not him. It's _my_ triumph.

I lead him to the bed and push him down on it, then disappear into the bathroom to clean up. In all the time I've known him, we've never slept in a bed together. I could never let my guard down that long, never been that unprotected.

I slide into clean, cool sheets and tuck myself into his side. He's warm, so warm, and I know that in his arms, I'm safe.

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_**Paul**_

In the months that follow, we have a few hits and misses. We learn what she likes, what she needs, and I learn what I can give. We now know that she'll let me push her too far, especially if it's been too long, or if she's had a particularly bad day.

Once we tried a cane and I made her bleed. That night it was her comforting me, giving me what I needed. After that we talked a lot about safe words and trust, and how I couldn't be the only one in charge, that I had to be able to trust her, too.

I gave her a necklace, silver chain with a heart locket. When she wears it, I know she needs me. At first I tried to make her ask me, but she couldn't always, couldn't admit her need, and we ended up the way we were before – her lashing out at me, and me baffled. Now when she wears the necklace, she's telling me what she needs, and I give it to her.

I'd be lying if I didn't say that part of me enjoys it. She opens herself up to me, gives herself to me, and I know that she'd let me do anything, anything, to please her. And that's how we meet in the middle. I give her what she needs, and she lets me, which is what I need.

The mornings after, always the mornings after, it's not hard and rough, but it's slow and tender and sweet. She lies on her back and lets me inside of her, her eyes and body and mouth, all open to me. Her heart, all open to me. In those moments, it's not about her need for punishment, for pain. It's about her need for connection, and mine. It's communion.

She lets me love her. And that's all I've ever wanted.

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**AN:** So, next up is Jasper's story, and then I'll be done peeking in on these kids. These stories have been so much fun to write, and I've been so humbled by the reactions to their tales, but **especially** by the kind reactions to the Paul/Rachel storyline. Thank you so much.

This was beta'd by FarDareisMai2, who is more generous of spirit than I can even express. I heart you twothree girl!


	7. Jasper Comes into his Own

AN: This story contains sex of the homo- and heterosexual kind. I apologize if this offends you.

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**Venice Beach Stories**

**Jasper Comes into his Own**

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"_Hey."_

It's not a question, it's a statement. It's 'goddamn, it took you long enough.'

"Hey," I say.

Her mouth is at mine, tongue at my lips, then it's in my mouth. I open up for her, let her come into me.

"_God, you taste good."_

She's got long, curly brown hair, but I don't put my hands into it. I pull away to slide the seat back and she slides over, her knees on either side of me.

Cherry - the car, not the girl – she smells like heaven. Old leather seats and petroleum, a little bit of smoke and a little bit of weed. Smells real. I take a breath and open back up for the girl.

She sinks down over me, grinding her _tight wet hot_ onto my jeans. Does it hurt for girls? The zipper? Not from the way she's going at it.

"_Do you feel that?"_

"Unh," I grunt, and the girl makes another press of her hips to mine. This time, I press up, press back.

Her moan is high and soft. Her tits are high and firm, just like her ass, and her body is just soft and warm everywhere. But soft and warm and high and firm is not what I want.

I dig my fingers into her tits, then move them down to her back. There. A nice, anonymous back.

"_I want this."_

There are fingers now at my zipper, pressing against my cock through the thick denim. Then they're pulling at the button, then shoving inside. Warm, soft fingers. Tentative.

She slides off of me, and her fingers grip my cock all wrong. Not wrong. She's trying.

She pumps me once, twice, then lowers her head. She looks up at me, all wide blue eyes, and then she puts her mouth on me.

"_Mmmm, fuck yes. Look at that."_

I close my eyes and recline the seat back as far as it will go.

I don't want to watch, I just want to feel. And Jill? Well this girl's going at it like a champ. Except that it doesn't work.

Her mouth is full of bravado that she can't back up. She's going hard and fast, but she's only gripping the based with her thumb and forefinger. And she's not using her teeth, probably because some guy in the tenth grade told her it was scary and his pussy friends agreed. She licks around the tip, around the ridge, and then flicks her tongue into the slit, but it's a tentative little lick because she's afraid she'll hurt me.

She doesn't lick where she should, where it feels the best, because she doesn't know, and I'm not up for playing teacher.

I reach over and finger her beneath her skirt, under the panties.

Shit. She's gonna let me fuck her in my car.

On a side street.

A block from her house.

I start to feel sad for this girl, then sink my fingers into her hair and try to guide her motions. She gags once trying to take me too deep, so I pull her up, back to my mouth. Hot, soft lips. Hot, soft mouth.

I stroke my fingers against her, into the hot, soft inside of her. She's so ready.

A few seconds and a torn foil packet and I'm ready too. She slides over me, down onto me, and then I'm inside.

"_Shit. Fuck."_

"Is it, is this okay?"

"Oh, yeah."

"_Fuck, yes. Just go slow."_

I let her set the pace and she's hot and slippery wrapped around my cock. She picks up speed when I put my hands back on her tits. I close my eyes and let her fuck me.

Hard.

Yes.

"_Harder…need you…so fucking…fuck yes."_

Deep and hot and oh fuck, yes, so fucking tight and hard under my fingers. He's hard, hard muscle and dark skin and short hair that I pull, and salty skin that I lick as I fuck and fuck and—

"Oh, God, baby yeah, I'm gonna come. Make me come."

She's breathy and panting, and I look up at her, her face caught in that second before ecstasy breaks over her, transforming this trashy bar pick-up into a soft, beautiful girl.

I push up into her a little longer, but after that, it's no use. So I do what women have been doing since the discovery of the female orgasm: I fake it.

I grip her hips, thrust up, thrust harder, once, twice, thrice. I still and dig my fingers into her ass. I force a shiver up my spine and hold my breath, then release it with a quick shout.

From the way she's bent over me, kissing my cheeks and tangling her hair into my face, I'm guessing she bought it. Thank fuck for rubbers.

We straighten up, and I walk her to her door and leave her with a kiss. She leaves me with her number, which gets lost on the walk back to my car.

I pull Cherry out onto Highway 1, and head toward home.

Two hours, five beers, and four hundred red lights later, I'm nowhere near home. Nah, fuck that. I'm nowhere near my house.

Home is…someplace else.

I knock on the door, soft. It's late. I wait for a minute, wonder if he'll answer.

The porch light flicks on, and then there's a pause.

I hang my head. I have to stop doing this.

But then the door opens, and all I can see are warm, brown eyes, warm, dark skin. Short brown hair.

"Jas," he says, in the voice that won't leave my head.

"Hey Pete. You got a minute?"

.

Peter lives in a Craftsman house. It's green and brown outside, and red and brown inside. He has Mission furniture and the whole place looks like he bought it out of a fucking magazine, right down to the funky bowl by the door where he dumps his keys and cell phone.

There are a couple of toys in a basket on the floor. It reminds me of why I shouldn't be here, but I can't stop myself. I'll go to his house, I'll look and not touch and when I leave, I'll hate myself a little bit more.

Pete cracks a couple of beers and we sit on his overstuffed leather sofa.

"Bad night?" he asks. He knows it is. He knows, he wants…and I can't.

I shrug. "Did a gig with _My Italian Friends_, over in Redondo."

"Yeah, how was it?"

He doesn't want to know. This is all I can give him, tattered and hazy and my balls ache from not getting off but I can feel that girl still on my skin, reminding me of who I really am.

A long, deep pull from the cold bottle in my hand saves me from having to answer.

He looks at his own bottle, shakes his head.

"You look like shit, J."

I laugh, the bitter sound too loud in the quiet room.

"Shit! Sorry," I say, keeping my voice low and glancing at the hall.

"She's…" He hesitates, and sighs. "She's with her grandparents for a couple of days."

"Oh." I swallow and take another swig of beer. It takes all I have to meet his eyes.

When I do look up, finally, I feel ashamed. I see kindness in his eyes, on his face. Not his scorn or contempt or even pity. I groan then, because there's no stopping me now, I need-

"Jasper." He's shaking his head no, and I reel back from his refusal, pressing myself away from him, further into the side of the couch.

"Not like this, man. Come on." He stands and holds his hand out to me, leads me to his bedroom, his bathroom.

"Shower up," he says, like he knows just where I've been tonight, and then I realize that he probably does, because let's face it, I'm a slut. Everyone knows that. He walks out of the room, leaving me with a clean towel.

I turn on the water and pull away my clothes. I put some toothpaste on my finger and run it through my mouth as I climb into the shower. The steam billows around me and I spit down the drain, rinsing from the shower head.

Picking up the bar of soap, I bring it to my face and am struck dumb for a moment by the overwhelming scent of him. _Him._

I close my eyes and remember, him smiling up at me in his shower, lashes wet, mouth pink from mine, kissing and licking, biting his fat bottom lip. I pulled him in again and the water ran between us, got into our mouths and it was hot, watery sweet and so fucking good.

I look down and my cock is rock hard again, so I take the opportunity to wash the girl off of me. My hand on my dick feels good, and I wash a little more thoroughly than is necessary, but then a knock at the door startles me, and I take my hand off of myself and turn away, embarrassed.

"Some clean clothes on the counter," he says, and then I hear the door close again. I slump against the shower wall, the marble cold against my back.

What the fuck am I doing?

There's a moment of clarity through the boozy haze. I'll finish up and get the fuck out. I don't care if I end up sleeping on a side street or get picked up for a DUI. I need to get the fuck out of his life. I'm such a shit.

I rinse off, dry off, and get out of the shower. When I see the soft gray sweats and white t-shirt that he's left on the counter, my resolve flags, and becomes defeat.

I walk out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. I'm still rubbing the towel over my head, trying to get the rest of the water, when I look up and see him, sitting on the edge of his bed. He stands and takes the towel from my hands, then reaches up to finger comb my hair. His hands are wary before they're sure, and I lean forward, pressing my head into his hands.

"That feels good," I say, and he sighs and drops his hands.

"Come on." He tugs on my hand and leads me to the bed. I'm boozy enough still to go without a second thought. I'm almost asleep standing up, and it feels so good, so fucking…_right_ to let him lead me. To just give in.

He pulls back the blankets and slips off his jeans and socks. He's wearing boxer-briefs that cling to his legs and I want to slide my hand under them and feel him, hard muscles and soft skin, there under my palm. He keeps on his t-shirt and then slides back, making space for me.

"Just sleep," he says, as I climb in. He pulls me against him, lays us on our sides, and curls himself around me. There's no soft stroke of skin, no quiet kiss goodnight, but I don't care. I'm asleep before I can wonder why.

.

In the morning, I'm slow to wake up. It's not until the scent of food – coffee and bacon – invade my dreams that I realize where I am. The night before comes back in a blur of booze and desperation. I can't fucking believe I showed up here. I can't fucking believe he let me in.

The last three times I'd come by, Peter'd left me standing on the front porch. He'd used Charlotte, his kid, as an excuse, but we both knew the deal. He won't take what I have to offer, and I can't give him what he wants.

I wonder why last night was different as I climb out of bed and walk toward his kitchen. There's weak sunlight burning through the cloud cover, but it doesn't hurt my eyes like it normally would. I'm not as hung over as usual, and it feels like a relief, not to have the nausea and headache for a change.

I'm still thirsty as hell though, so I watch him at the stove for a few minutes before I clear my throat.

"Glass of water?" I ask, before he turns around. I take a minute to stare.

He's wearing jeans and a light green sweater, and it brings out the bits of pale green in his eyes. He gestures with the spatula toward the cupboard – like I don't know where the glasses are. I take a seat at the bar and watch him cook: the lean lines of his back flexing beneath the sweater, the way he bounces on the balls of his feet when he's impatient, waiting for the pancakes to cook.

It makes me think of the first time I sat here, the first morning after. It makes me think about the first time I fell in love.

.

_I stretch my neck and arms, both feeling tight after too much band practice. I get why Paul pushes us, and I like it. But I've got part-time gigs in two other bands, and I do a little studio work on the side, so it's only natural that my body tightens up some times._

_Peter laughs and my eyes slide his way. He's twirling a drumstick and wearing a faded-out Stones shirt. It's tight across his chest, like he's grown since he got it, and given his age, he probably has. I watch his fingers, long fingers, as they lace across the stick, and the mental image of them on my body makes me look away._

_It's our last practice for three weeks. Paul's got some art show in New York, and February's dead for the club scene anyway. I have two gigs in the next two weeks, but other than that, my schedule's clear. I'm thinking about maybe heading up to Big Sur for a while. I haven't been in years, and I feel itchy – I need a change of pace._

"_J, you coming?"_

_I look over at Jared, our lead guitarist. "Heading over to Malloy's. You coming?" _

_I finish packing up my bass and give him a nod. Malloy's has good food and cheap beer. It has the added benefit of hot waitresses and being stumbling distance from home. The other guys are getting organized and getting ready to head out, so I lock the bass in Cherry's trunk and join them. _

_._

_Five hours later, the bar's closing and I'm wrecked. Chelsea, the new blonde waitress, has been running her hand up my thigh all night. I need to decide if I'm sticking around to fuck her, or if I'm going to bed alone tonight. Six months ago, it wouldn't have been a fucking question. Six months ago I would have already fucked her in the men's room, but six months ago, he showed up and now every time I put my dick in a girl, I'm pushing back thoughts of him._

_His skin is light brown and his hair is dark, curly. His fingers are long and elegant and banged up to hell, but when he twirls a drumstick, I can't take my eyes off of them. When he laughs, his whole face lights up and when he's serious, his tongue sticks out and he bites the tip, making his full lips pout out while he gets a little furrow between his eyebrows. He makes me think things – bad things, so I try to keep my eyes off of him._

_I walk – using that term loosely – to the men's room. I'm leaning to the side as I piss, half-tired, half-drunk. Part of me wants to fuck the thoughts of him right out my head with Chelsea, but the other part…._

_I zip up and turn to go, but stop. And stare._

_He's there, right behind me, and his eyes are asking questions that I can't answer. I'm straight. He knows that. Why is he looking at me that way?_

_He takes a tentative, half-step forward, but wobbles it. Fuck, he's just as drunk as I am, maybe more. He pitches forward and I reach out to catch him, and the moment I touch him, it's over._

_I right us and push him up against the wall. My hands are on his shoulders and I grind my cock up against him before I suck his bottom lip into my mouth. There's no pretense, no softness, no sweet words meant to separate him from his clothes. _

_This is sharp and needful. I'm kissing him, sucking his tongue and biting his lips, and he's arching his back, pushing out his chest, trying to get into me like I'm trying to get into him. _

_I break from his mouth and attack his neck, licking and sucking, hands pulling his ass forward, pushing his hips into mine. _

"_Yes," he whispers. "Fuck, yes." He runs his nose under my ear and then his mouth, hot mouth, hard teeth, are on my neck. "Don't go home with her," he whispers. "Go home with me. Go home with me."_

_I groan because, fuck, yes. I want to. I want that. I want him in a bed, spread out before me. I want him up against the wall and wet in the shower and sucking my cock on his knees, looking up at me through too-long lashes. _

_I'm about to say yes when I hear voices in the hall. Sounds like Paul yelling to someone. I push away, push him away, and dive for the sink. When Paul walks in I'm washing cold water over my face. When I look up, Pete's gone._

"_Jesus Christ, Jas. You okay?"_

_I look up at his reflection in the mirror, avoiding my own. _

"_Yeah, man. I'm good. Just cleaning up before I head out."_

"_You sure you're good to drive? You can crash at my place." He pauses. "I think Chelsea lives just around the corner and, dude, she's looking like she wants some company."_

_I smirk at him because that's what they expect. Jasper the man-slut who fucks any and every decent chick that blinks twice at him. _

_Drying my hands and face, I don't make eye contact. I hear his zipper lower and that's my cue. When I walk out, the place is nearly empty. Chelsea's packing napkins into holders. Jared's leaning over the Jukebox and Peter…Pete's gone. _

_Jared and Paul leave next, and I have Chelsea putting her hand on my hip as she moves across the table to take the napkin holder. _

"_You sure you're okay to drive?" she asks. "My place is just a few blocks away." The last part is a half-whisper, and if I had to guess, I'd say she's just a nice girl looking for a nice guy, but doing it all wrong._

"_Nah," I say. "Early practice in the morning. I gotta go."_

_She gives me a soft smile and I tug the end of her ponytail. I grab my leather jacket and walk out the front door. I light a smoke and head to my car. When I look up, Peter's leaning against the hood._

_I look at him and drop the match. _

"_You're not going home with her," he says. _

_I shake my head and exhale. _

"_Come on. We can get a cab the next block over."_

_It's easy to follow him and not think about what comes next. It's easy to follow him and not think about the consequences, the repercussions. What it means. _

_The cab ride to his place is long and quiet. I sit beside him, staring out the window. I'm wound tight. I'm ready to tell the driver to stop, to let me out but there in the back, without even looking my way, Peter's pinky strokes against mine. It's nothing – the smallest touch. But what it sparks inside of me? I can't let that go._

_When we get to his place, the cab fare's over sixty bucks. I hand the cabbie a fifty and Peter makes up the rest. Without a word we walk to his door, and suddenly my stomach feels tight, feels wrong. God, if my family knew. If my father could see me. The shame starts creeping out, from my gut, but before it can take hold, Peter's there._

_He grabs my hand as he comes up behind me. "Stop thinking."_

_I want to, but how?_

_As soon as we walk through the front door, and he closes it behind me, he shows me how. Shows me with his mouth against mine, his fingers tugging up my shirt, calloused hands on my skin. He groans, low in his throat and pushes his hips into mine. _

"_Wanted you to fuck me since the first time I saw you," he whispers. "Tell me you're gonna fuck me."_

_His words and my want become the only thing I'm aware of. I pull off his shirt, and he drops to his knees, breathing hot air against my cock through my jeans. _

_When he unbuttons and unzips and pulls me out, I'm panting. _

"_Oh, god, you're perfect." He takes me into his mouth, slow, easy licks, tongue everywhere on me and fingers stroking my balls. I lean up against the wall as he takes me deeper and deeper. My short nails dig for purchase against the drywall, and when I look down, he's looking up at me, big eyes that are green and brown, girl lashes, and I stare because it's unreal. My body is engulfed in pleasure and my brain can only see him, watch him as he's watching me. It's like a fantasy happening in my head and in reality, all at the same time. _

_He pulls his mouth off of me and I make a small, sad noise._

"_If I suck you off now, are you still gonna play?"_

_Suck me off…I…fuck._

_I nod because, fuck, I want that, so bad. I want him to suck me off, let me shoot into his mouth. My balls tighten when he goes back in. Then he closes his eyes and in less than a minute I come and my knees try to give and I thrust my shoulders against the wall and my hips into his mouth and it's like blacking out because for moments or minutes there's nothing but perfect._

_When I can think again, feel again, he's still got my cock in his mouth but his hands are against my hips, pinning them to the wall. His mouth is so warm and wet, his tongue swirling around my softening cock, and he tongues the slit, sucking out every last bit of my cum._

"_Shit."_

"_I know. I've wanted to do that for so fucking long, Jasper."_

_He pulls off my pants and then my shirt and takes my hand, leading. We end up in his bedroom, and I reach for him, I want him, so much. I'm scared I'll disappoint him, because I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, I only know that I want._

_He falls onto the bed and I follow. I follow his lead. _

_He turns on his side and starts kissing, up my neck, down my chest, but I want his mouth on mine, so I pull at him and he comes to me._

"_I didn't know if it would freak you out," he says, and I realize that he gets some things about me. That he gets that this isn't me. Not really. I'm not gay._

_But if I'm not gay, what am I doing here?_

_His mouth is good, sweet and salty, and before long he's naked underneath me, rubbing his cock against mine while I fuck his mouth with my tongue. He's making small sounds in the back of his throat and clutching my ass, pulling me closer. The kiss stretches out and then he pulls away, turns over._

"_Don't," I say, and turn him back over._

_I don't want him to come where I can't see it. I want to see it._

"_Condom?"_

_He points to the nightstand and I pull out lube and a condom. I roll it on and lube up, then pour some over his cock, his balls, watch it drip down to his ass. I stroke him there once, twice, and he looks up at me through heavy-lidded eyes. _

"_The way you look at me sometimes," he says. "Makes me so fucking hard."_

_I stroke his cock with my lubed-up fingers. "Like this?"_

"_Fuck."_

_I start to rub against his hole. I'm grateful for the blow-job, because without it, I'd be jizzing into the rubber by now. _

_Pete spreads out before me. He tips his pelvis up and rubs his ass against my cock. I figure maybe it's better to let him lead, let him come to me. _

"_I want this," he says, and pushes himself onto me, just a little though, just the tip. "Have you, before?"_

_I nod and feel like a stupid kid. "Uh, fuck, a couple of times." Two nights that I can barely remember, half lost in a cloud of booze and pot, with guys I knew I'd never see again. With guys. Two nights that saw me scrubbing my skin in the morning under scalding water, trying to wash the shame off, knowing it wouldn't work._

_He groans and presses against me and I can't help it, I press back. _

"_Is this okay?" I ask. I'm leaned over him and it's physically painful not to buck into him, hard. I want to hear the sounds he makes when I do. I want to taste his breath when he comes, see what he looks like._

"_Oh, fuck. Yes. Just…go slow."_

_I do, and he does, and then the backs of his thighs are on the tops of mine and I'm all the way inside. I pull on his hips, pull him up for a better angle, and start to move. I go slow, like he asked. So slow and easy and it feels like nothing else. Hot, tight, fuck, god, he's so tight._

_He squirms under me and pushes back, his fingertips resting against my thighs. It's not long before he's gripping them, and I lean forward, chest to chest, trying to get in deeper._

"_Harder," he says, panting the word. "Fuck me harder, I need-"_

_I thrust into him deep and interrupt his words. _

"_Yes, shit!"_

_His hand snakes between us and that can't be right. I want to make him come. Me._

_I rise up and brush his hand away, taking his slick cock in my hand. Fuck, he's throbbing and I stroke him hard and I keep time with my cock inside of him and when he comes it's clenched eyes and bared teeth and a groan and he's throbbing around me, so much tighter, pulsing and I can't think anymore. I come, hard, so fucking hard, and it feels like everything bad in me drains away, until I'm left with nothing but good, nothing but the best._

_My face is in the crook of his neck, and he smells so good. Spice and man and fresh cut grass. His arms come around and he…he just holds me. Strokes my back and it feels nice, good. Feels like I want to stay._

_We stay that way until I realize the condom will be a problem. I pull out and away I already wish I was back there in his arms._

"_Hurry back," he says. I do, and when I come back to bed, he wraps himself around me and kisses the back of my neck. I don't think I've ever cuddled before in my life, but if this is what it's like, I can see why chicks dig it. Pete brings his arm up under mine, pulling me in tight, close to him, and the last thought I have is how this is the best I've ever felt in my life._

_In the morning there's coffee and pancakes and bacon and eggs. He's barefoot and in jeans, no shirt. I greet him by licking my way up his spine. He turns to me and the pancakes get cold and the eggs burn and the tile floor is cold, but it's good, so good._

_I don't question what tomorrow or the next day will bring. I don't question what will happen when I walk out of his door. I just know that, for now, being here with him? It's good. It's better than good. And for the first time in a long time, I'm happy._

.

"Where's Charlotte?" I ask, as he flips a pancake onto a plate in the oven.

"With my folks for a few days. They miss her." As he says it, I catch a memory-echo and realize he's already told me this.

Peter's only sexual encounter with a girl ended with him knocking her up. She wanted to give the baby up for adoption, but he'd begged her to let him raise it. He swears the day Charlotte was born was the happiest day of his life, and he's so good with her. She's got long, curly red hair and eyes that are a hundred shades of blue. But when she smiles, it's all Pete.

I don't say anything, just stare into my coffee cup.

He reaches out to me, puts his hand on top of mine. He's four years younger than me, but a fuck of a lot older.

"Jasper, what's going on with you?"

I can't bring myself to look into his eyes. I shrug and think about how I need to get in the car and get home.

A huff of air, coffee scented and sweet, hits me when he sighs. His fingers tighten on mine and he holds my hand until I finally look him in the eye, and that's when I'm lost. They're not green and they're not brown, and sometimes they're olive and sometimes amber but always, always, they see right through me.

"It's okay to want-" he starts, but I'm already shaking my head. Because, no, it's not.

"I don't. I can't."

"No? Then what are you doing here?"

I shrug. "Hung out at Panama Joe's after the gig. Too drunk to drive home."

I can take the lie and I can take myself away from him, but what I can't take is his disappointment. The look in his eyes, knowing that I've hurt him. Again.

.

_For the last three weeks it's been just me, and just him. We walk to the shore and have drinks at the bar, or take out Mexican food, and no one looks twice at a couple of guys together because this is Long Beach and that's just how it is. Still, I don't hold his hand and we don't kiss and I guess it's obvious he's gay, we've all always known, but when I realize people might think I'm gay, I get a little itchy. _

_He doesn't say anything about it. He knows – he has to know – that this isn't my usual scene. That I'm not that guy. _

_The night before our next band practice, we hang out at Peter's house. It's a nice house on a tree-lined street in the best neighborhood. It was his grandparents' house and his parents gave it to him so that they could be close to Charlotte. That kid might not have a mother, but she doesn't lack for love._

_He challenges me to a round of Rock Band, with the caveat that I take drums, and he takes bass. I agree and an hour later we're both cracking up at how the game messes with our muscle memory, our musical instincts. We each have a few beers and I pack a little weed into the pipe he's got stashed in his medicine cabinet. When the high hits me and I start to float, I pull him to me and he climbs onto my lap._

_His hair is unruly, curly brown-black and I put my fingers into it, pulling him down for a kiss. When our mouths touch, it does something to me. It makes me high, higher, knowing that he lets me do this, knowing that he lets me do everything. His mouth is warm and smooth and his stubble scrapes against mine. I tip my head back on the couch and his hands are under my shirt, his short fingernails scratching against my skin, like he knows I like it. _

_He slides down, parting my knees and then pulls off my jeans. Nestled between my legs, he gazes up at me and I can't help but get lost in him, his adoration. He takes me into his mouth and starts sucking. I place my hand on his head, not pushing, just resting, and lean back. _

_I'm startled when I feel his finger at my entrance, and my eyes pop open, looking at him._

"_Trust me," he whispers against my cock, before taking it back into his mouth. I do trust him. I try. I try to relax, like I've felt him do, so that he can…do that._

_Before long, I'm distracted by the rhythm he's building on my cock. Smooth, slow, suck, lick. Fast down, slow up. I thrust my hips and his finger goes deeper. I thrust again and before I know it, I'm fucking his mouth and his finger, and it feels…it feels wrong and incredible and dirty and so fucking good, oh shit, so fucking good._

_His finger inside of me hits a spot and with one more pass of his mouth, I'm coming. I'm coming hard and fast, like it's being yanked out of me, like I can't breathe._

_I'm panting hard when I look at him he's got a half-smirk on his face and I want to kiss it off._

"_Fuck."_

"_Yeah." His grin becomes cocky. "I knew you'd love it."_

"_Jesus Christ, what was that? It was like you fucking…pushed a button."_

_He grins. "I did. Now come on, and return the favor." _

_So I do._

_The next morning, I tell him I'll meet him at Paul's. I take myself home and I get into the shower, washing him off of me. Closing my eyes, I press my face against the cool of the tile, wishing that the water streaming down my face was the tears that I won't let myself cry. _

_I'm not a fucking pussy – I'm a man. And men don't fuck other men. The Major, my father, he drilled that into me from the time I could remember. "Stop being a pussy," he'd say. "Marines don't cry. What are you, a faggot? Go play with your sister. Go play with the girls."_

_I punch my hand against the wall and relish the sting. Whatever that was, whoever I was these last few weeks, I'm not that guy anymore. I am Jasper fucking Whitlock. I like pussy and the soft sounds that a woman makes and the way they smell and tonight, I'm going to prove it. _

_I get out of the shower and do what I need to do._

_._

_When I get to Paul's place, I'm scrubbed clean. I stood under the hot water until my skin turned red and even now, it's still a little pink. I unpack my bass and plug in, dicking around until the rest of the guys show up. Until the last guy shows up. _

_He hurries in, pulling his sticks from his back pocket while also running a hand through his hair. It's damp and from where I'm standing I can smell it, and the smell brings back so much, too much, so many moments in his shower and in his bed and I start coughing, choking on the smell and the bile in the back of my throat. _

_Pete walks over and lays his hand on my back. He doesn't pound, he soothes and I fight back a fucking sob because it feels so goddamned good._

_Instead, I twist away from him. My eyes tell him to fuck off as I say, "I'm cool, I'm cool." I sit down on the stool and ignore Peter's wounded look and strum the intro to _Seven Nation Army_, because that's what Paul wants to practice next. _

_When we're done, Paul wanders off to take a call from his manager, looking tense as fuck as he does it. Jared packs up and is gone before I can blink, and Pete's just…lingering._

_I pack up the bass and sling it across my back and turn to leave._

"_Jas!"_

_His voice halts me in my tracks. _

"_You wanna-"_

_I turn to him, and I can see the hope on his face and it fucking – it hurts. "I'm busy." _

_He can't miss the way I'm looking at him, telling him to fuck off in every way but with words. _

_He sucks a breath at my look, then his shoulders drop. "Char won't be back for three days."_

_I shrug. _

"_I thought…."_

_I walk over to him and lean in close. "I know what you thought. But I'm not a fag, so get over it."_

_A second later, as if on cue, Tiffany walks in. _

"_Jasper?"_

"_Hey there, darlin'." I take her into my arms and kiss her neck while giving him a smirk. I walk out with Tiffany and lead her to my car. We're going to get fucked up and then I'm going to remind her of what it means to be good and truly fucked. _

_As I drive off, I congratulate myself on a job well done. Whatever Peter might have thought was going on, well, the record's straight now. I did everything right. I cleaned up my mess._

_That night, as Tiffany sucks my cock, I try not to think about him. I try not to think about how good he felt, and I try not to think about how shitty this feels, but when I finally come, it's because I was thinking of him and then I try not to think about how bad that makes me feel._

.

Peter slides a stack of pancakes over to me and I go through the motions. Add butter. Add syrup. Cut off a forkful and then stare.

The sound of a fork clattering against a plate pulls me out of myself. Pete's staring at me and I stare back. My fingers twitch to touch him, and I reach for his hand, but he pulls away and stares at his plate.

"Do you want to talk?" he asks.

I shake my head and shove a forkful of pancake into my mouth. Definitely not.

"Is it…are you afraid of your family? I mean, my parents are great about it now, but…back then, they kind of acted like it was the end of the world." He pauses and fixes me with those green-brown eyes, eyes that have so much…_God,_ is that pity? "They'll get over it, you know."

He reaches out to touch my hand, and I feel like the biggest piece of shit. The things I've said to him…the nights I've shown up at his house, drunk and all but begging for him to touch me, only to tell him to fuck off in the light of day.

I just shake my head at him. I know what he's saying, what he's asking me. He wants me to know that he'll stand by me. That…that he'll help me come out.

But I can't…_Jesus._ My mind revolts at the thought.

He sighs, and I see him pull himself up: his spine straightens and his fingertips push the plate away, only a centimeter, but I know it means he's done.

"She's six," he says. "She's six years old, and she sees everything. And it's my job to show her how everything works, to teach her."

I nod, not really sure where he's going, but glad to hear him speak.

"So what am I showing her here? I can't show her how a man treats a woman. I can't show her that kind of relationship, but I want to be able to show her what it looks like to love someone, J. And what would I be showing her with this?" He finally looks me in the eye, gesturing between us.

I take his meaning like a fist in the gut. He's right. He can't show her that love is a shameful thing, a midnight, too-drunk-to-drive thing, because it's not.

"She deserves better," he says, pulling me out of my head. He raises his eyes to mine, and I know what's coming, because it's true, absolutely true. "And so do I."

He pushes away from the table. "Your clothes are in the dryer. You can leave those on the washer," he says, gesturing to what I'm wearing.

"Don't – I'm asking you as a friend, J. Don't come back."

He walks out of the room and everything inside of me hurricanes up. Blood and nerves and guts and emotion, all twisting and storming around until I'm lost in the fury.

_Don't come back._

.

I'm hanging out in Paul's back yard, practicing for the gig we have coming up this weekend. Everyone's there but Peter, who's running late. In the times that we've seen each other over the last few weeks, we've been like we always were – friendly and cordial but not buddies. We talk to each other out of necessity, and it feels wrong to laugh where he can see me. It feels wrong to laugh period.

Like I've conjured a ghost just thinking of him, he walks through the door.

"You guys, you gotta come see this." He beckons us to the kitchen window, and we all look out onto the front street.

Edward is holding his bike steady from the back while Bella sits on it, her hands on the handlebars. He reaches over to her, showing her how to twist her wrist. She turns to look at him and lets go of the brake, making the bike scoot forward. Edward leaps up to grab it, grab her, the bike stalls, and the whole thing almost topples over. She looks up at him, contrite, and he fists both hands in his hair. I watch him collect himself for a moment, then reach over and grab the key from the ignition.

She ducks her head down and he kisses the top of it, and then situates her back on the bike, kickstand down, motor off.

"Motherfucker," I say. "He won't even let _me_ ride that thing."

"Yeah, but you're not _her,_" Paul says, jerking his thumb in their direction. There's a look on his face that I can't place, something naked and raw that hits me in the gut.

"Shit," Jared says. "Cullen's gonna kill her if she drops it."

"Nah," Peter says. "They'll be fine."

He and Paul exchange a look that I can't read. "Besides," Pete says. "It's kind of cute."

"God, you're such a fag," Jared says.

"Fuck you, pussy-eater," Pete says, and charges him, until they both end up wrestling around on the ground, laughing.

Paul and I pile on, and the four of us end up a sweaty, laughing mess on the floor. We joke with Pete about being gay sometimes, and he jokes with us about fucking girls, and it's all okay, because when some guy mouthed off at a gig about Pete being gay, Jared was the one to throw the first punch.

At one point while we're wrestling, I have my hands on his skin, and I feel my whole body react. Even though I can't see him, I know it _is_ him, and I excuse myself to the bathroom before anyone can see that my dick is hard.

I stand over the sink, splashing cool water over my face and neck, and realize that I'm jealous. I'm jealous of Edward and his girl, living their lives right out loud like that, where anyone can look over and see, from the look on his face, that he's in love with her. Where anyone can see that she loves him back.

I push off the sink, make my excuses to Paul and the guys and get the fuck out of there. I can admit what I want, if only to myself, but there's no way for me to have it, so it might as well not exist.

.

Three days later Rose walks through my front door. She's got her hair tied up on top of her head and I can tell by her posture that she is pissed. She stands in the center of the room and looks around. There are two cases-worth of empty beer bottles, an empty bottle of Jack, an empty of Goose and a half-empty bottle of rum on the coffee table.

"Are you fucking kidding me? This is such bullshit."

She walks over to me, hauls me off the couch and walks me into the bathroom. "You wasted?"

"Hung over," I whisper. Her voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard.

"Get in," she says, gesturing toward the shower.

I reach over and turn on the faucet, letting the water warm up.

"You smell like shit," she says, and walks out, slamming the door behind her.

When I come out of the shower, I'm clean and feel a little better, but the smell of eggs would still make me puke.

Rose has cleaned up the living room; there's no trace of the bottles, and the windows are all open, a breeze sweeping the stink of my pity party out of the house. She's wearing bright yellow rubber gloves, and there are two bags of trash next to the front door.

She's still furious. She sees me staring and pitches my cell phone at me.

"Forty-three missed calls, you asshole."

She turns around and goes back into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge and tossing shit into the trash.

"Paul's ready to fire your ass. I told him we had a family emergency."

She opens a carton of milk and reels back from the stench.

"Edward and Emmett came over here last night and you were passed out on the couch with your front door unlocked."

_Chuck, chuck, chuck._ Three more things hit the trash can, each with a loud thump.

"Anyone could have just walked in and-" Her voice wavers just a little, and she pitches something that might have been lettuce, once, into the trash. It hits with a soft, sickly thud.

"What the fuck, Jasper?" She turns to me and her eyes are blazing. They're bright with tears that she hasn't let go, and I can see she's almost shaking with anger.

I might be an asshole, but I know my baby sister. The only time she's angry is when she's scared.

I walk toward her slowly, because one off move and she'll throw something at me.

"I'm sorry," I say, looking her in the eye.

By the time I reach her and wrap myself around her, I'm crying and so is she. We slump to the floor and I let my little sister hold and rock me, comforting us both.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I know what she saw when she walked in – the same thing we saw when we were kids – our father passed out on the couch, empties all around him after he'd gone on a bender. Our mother would rush us out of the house, and we'd stay away all day, until we couldn't avoid it any longer. Sometimes he'd clean up and when we walked in, everything was fine. Other times…other times there were fights. Thrown objects. Tears. Me and Rose, hanging onto each in my bedroom, my back up against the wall, holding her tight to my chest, promising it would all be okay.

We never talked about those times, not as a family, and not between the two of us. We just survived them and then tried to put the memories away.

"You can't do this to me, Jasper. You can't, God, please don't be like him."

"I'm not. I'm not, I promise. I won't. I won't do it again."

"You can't. You can't. Please."

I hold her closer and we cry ourselves out, clinging together. When we finally stand, stiff and sore, legs cold from the kitchen tile, I realize that for the first time, _she_ has held _me_. _Her_ back up against the wall. _Her_ arms keeping me safe.

The knowledge shakes me, shakes something loose inside of me.

Rose leads me to the living room and pushes me down on the sofa.

She sits on the coffee table opposite me and doesn't say a word. She waits.

I don't know where to start, so I start with the obvious. "I'm so fucked up, Li-li. I fucked it all up. You're…I'm so sorry." I use my childhood nickname for her, and it dawns on me that I haven't called her that in a really, really long time.

I don't even know what I'm apologizing for, or who I'm apologizing to. Everything in me hurts, from the inside out, and all I want is for something to work, something to be right. Real.

Rose takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. Fog clings to the edges of the mirrors and the air is warm and humid.

She holds me in front of the mirror, and then steps to the side.

Eyes the same shade as mine stare at me. Blonde hair, the same color as mine, frames her face.

"You see this," she says, her fingers gesturing to her eyes.

I nod.

"You're my blood, Jasper. I may not always like you, but I'm the one who will always love you best." She stares into my eyes a beat longer. "No matter what."

I bow my head and she takes my hand in hers, laces her fingers through mine.

"There's nothing you could break that you can't fix." Her fingers squeeze mine.

"I..." I swallow hard and my mind rattles off all the things I could say.

_I fell in love with a man._

_I hurt someone and I don't know how to make it right._

_I hurt myself, and I need him to fix me._

_I need him._

_I'm gay._

The last one makes my heart beat hard. Am I gay?

I start to panic, and Rosie's fingers squeeze mine again, and she turns into me, putting her arms around me again.

"It's okay," she says. "I promise, it's okay."

With her face in my neck, she can't see me, and I whisper the words that have been rattling around in my head, in my fucking veins, for weeks now.

"I think I'm in love with Peter, and I don't think he wants me."

Rose doesn't say anything. She doesn't hold her breath or gasp, and she doesn't hold me tighter or push away. I wonder if she heard me at all.

"Li-li?"

"And?"

I push from her grasp. "And?"

She waits for me with open, curious eyes. "And…?"

I stare back at her and don't understand.

"And what? Li-li, I said I'm fucking in love with a guy. A guy!"

"I thought Peter was gay, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he is."

"But he doesn't want you? You've…you've talked?"

I can't hide the sarcastic smile on my face. "Yeah. Sort of."

"Sort of?" She asks the question and then turns and walks away, toward the living room. I stop by the fridge, but I'm out of beer. So I'm doing this dry. No. I'm doing this, with my baby sister, hung over.

"We, uhm, we had a thing, I guess."

Shit. Now I'm telling her about fucking a guy. Shit.

"And he broke up with you? Is that it?"

"No. I mean – I can't – I can't be gay."

And now I get the look. The look she saves for stray cats and Emmett when he is, in her words, uncouth.

"Babe, I don't think you get a choice on that one. If you like dick, you like dick. Believe me, I know."

"Yeah?" I cock an eyebrow at her. That sounds like a story.

"Let's just say I experimented after Royce."

"That cumstain."

"Yeah."

We were both quiet then, remembering the worst days of her life.

"No one who loves you gives a fuck if you're gay. You know that, right?"

"But the Major…"

"The Major was a fucking asshole and I hope he's rotting in hell. He talked so tough about being a man, but how many _men_ do you know who hit women?" I suck in a breath because no one – no one – has ever talked about our father that way.

"You. What you did for me, what Edward did for me? That takes a real man. If it wasn't for you, I…I never would have given Emmett a shot. _You_ are a real man."

I shake my head at her and she holds my face in her hands.

"No one who loves you gives a fuck if you're gay. Now, _you_ might not be ready to be who you are, but the people who love you? We're going to love you no matter what."

I lean my forehead against hers. "I love you, Li-li."

"Love you too, babe. Can we order Thai food? I'm really hungry." Rosalie pats her stomach and like that, everything is right again. Everything is normal. I start to relax.

.

The next day I'm supposed to show up at band practice. Instead, I call Paul and let him know I'm out. I can pick up enough gigs with other guys, even some studio work, that I don't need the paycheck – it mostly pays in beer, anyway.

I don't want to do this – quit – but I have to. I'm all kinds of fucked up, and being around Peter is only going to make it worse. The last time I walked out of a bathroom zipping my pants with some girl behind me wiping her mouth…I never want to see that look on his face again. I just can't.

I'm trying to watch the Rangers game when Emmett shows up.

"So Rosie says you're a fag."

Emmett walks into my apartment and heads straight for the fridge.

"Yeah, well she says you have a small dick."

"Fuck you."

"You fucking wish."

Emmett walks out of the kitchen, beer in his hand, grinning. "Sorry man, I'm not into kinky twin shit unless it's with two chicks."

I shake my head and roll my eyes. I've spent the last three days terrified of what my friends might think. I've envisioned big "coming out" scenes. I watched Reality Bites a half dozen times before I realized that it was stupid and vapid and kind of before my time.

PFLAG. Jesus.

"Seriously though. You're…you want to be with Peter?"

I nod my head and don't look at him. I punch the volume button the game and take a swig of my beer.

Emmett tries to grab the remote from my hand, but I challenge him and he wrestles me for it. I'm gasping for breath, pinned beneath him – he's a big fucker – when I realize that this is normal. That nothing's changed. That he knows I want cock and he's not afraid to touch me.

He grabs the remote from my hand and sits back down on the couch, thumbing the volume down.

"You talked to him?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"Well, shit. Your sister? She was a pain in the ass."

He side-eyes me and I give him a warning look.

"No, really. She didn't want to have shit to do with me. It took me forever to wear her down, but eventually, I did."

He stops talking and drinks his beer, and we watch the game for a few minutes.

"Have you tried flowers?" he asks.

I shake my head. Fuck. Emmett McCarty giving me relationship advice. For a guy. We're pretty much pushing the outer limits on weird.

"Worth a shot," he says.

Then we watch the rest of the game. And everything's cool. Later, we go out for burgers and Edward and Bella meet up with us and they're cool too. It's like…no big deal. To anyone.

But me.

No matter how I try, I can't come to terms with the label: gay. I want…_shit_. I always imagined my life would someday have a wife, and a couple of kids. I always thought I'd be a dad, and do it better, do it right.

Now? I just don't know.

.

Five months later, I'm parked at the corner of his street, watching his house. I feel like a fucking stalker. I kind of am.

I watch as a Saturn SUV pulls up to the front of the house, and people my parents' age, maybe a little younger, get out. Twenty minutes later, they're back at the car, with a pink suitcase. They load Charlotte into the toddler seat and drive away.

I listen to three songs by hipster bands on the radio, and then commercials come on. I can keep watching and really be a stalker. Or, I can get out of the car and talk to the one person who can change my future.

I knock and wait and knock again. I ring the doorbell. He doesn't answer and it pisses me off. I'm not here to fuck up his life. I'm here to…I don't know…unravel mine.

I sit on his front steps and wait for him to open the door. Fucker can't stay in all weekend. Can he?

.

I'm leaning against the stucco of his front porch when the door opens. I hear him make a noise, then stumble back.

"Jasper?"

I stand, startled, and turn to him. I thrust the bouquet of flowers in my hand toward him.

"I knocked and rang the bell," I say, by way of explanation.

He runs a hand through still-damp hair. "I must have been in the shower."

I step forward, the cellophane of the flowers crinkles between us. "Is this a bad time?"

He opens his mouth to speak, and I say "I saw Charlotte leave." I hope it's not too creepy.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"I wanted to know if maybe…maybe I could take you out? Dinner? Or…?"

Peter bows his head and leans his hand against the doorframe. He's not letting me in, and he looks…weary. Wary. Really goddamned done.

"I didn't know if you'd want Charlotte to meet me, yet. I didn't know if you'd mind, so I waited until I saw her go. I didn't want to do this on the phone." My hand reaches for his face and he ducks away.

"Am I…? Shit, you probably want me out of here," I say. I turn to go and catch a whiff of the flowers in my hand. They smell sweet, like spring. Like fresh things, and I want more of that in my life. "Fuck it."

I turn to him and he takes a step back and I take a step forward. I take his face in my empty hand and I breathe against his mouth.

"I want you. I want this, and I don't care what that means to anyone but you and your kid." I kiss him then. It's not soft. I'm hard and demanding with my mouth, licking against his lips and when he opens his mouth to protest, I move my hand to the back of his head and hold him there. I touch his tongue with mine and he draws away. I follow, refusing to break the connection, and then he's backed up against the wall. I have to do this. It's my only shot at showing him – reminding him – of how good we can be, together. If he rejects me after this, at least I'll know I tried.

He's hard, rigid against me and then he gives in and instead of cringing away, he meets me. His mouth opens and his tongue pushes against mine, stroking soft and then hard. He runs his tongue along the backs of my front teeth and I push my dick into his.

"I'm sorry," I say. I move my mouth to his neck, and he pushes his head back against the wall. "I was so fucked up, and I'm so sorry."

I bring my hand up to his chest, thumbing his nipple and he groans. "Fuck, that's good."

I fill my hand with his ass while the other thumbs across his cheek. "You're not seeing someone?"

"No. Fuck."

"You're gonna go out with me?"

He nods, and I suck on his Adam's apple; his groan shoots up my spine.

I bury my head in the crook of his neck. "Do you…can you forgive me? Someday? I've been seeing someone." I'm trying to set his mind at ease, but he tenses all over and starts to push me away.

"Fuck! No, a counselor. I've been…I've been seeing a therapist. I want – I want to be good, for you." My desperation makes me stutter, and I'm so anxious, waiting on his reaction, that it's hard to look him in the eye. I'm so afraid of what I'll see.

But then the tension leaves his body and he sags against the wall. His arms come up around me, pulling me in, holding my face to his shoulder.

"Shit. Yes, Jasper. Of course I forgive you."

"Really?" I ask, and the word is a sob in my throat. I can't believe this. I can't believe he'd forgive me. I can't believe he'd take me back, after all the words, dressed like knives, that have fallen from my tongue. I can't believe he'd still have me.

He puts his hands against my shoulders and pushes me away. I search his eyes – the brown and green so full of…_God_, so full of warmth and trust and…and he still wants me.

He smiles, that easy, Peter smile, and I smile back, and then we're laughing, and I have tears in my eyes, and we fall to the floor, rolling around and laughing, grabbing at each other – skin and ass and cock and nothing else matters because of the smiles.

"I'm gonna fuck you silly," I say. "I have making up to do."

"God, you'd better."

"You can call me Jasper." I nip at his shoulder through his t-shirt and then smirk as his confusion gives way to understanding.

"You're not_ that_ good."

"Best you ever had."

"Goddamned right," he says, and licks the column of my neck. We rise to stand and he spins me and turns me so my back is against the wall, and then he pulls my arms up above my head and pins me with his hips.

He must be on his tip-toes, but it doesn't matter, because I'm right where I want to be.

"Yes," I whisper, I groan.

His fingers are under my shirt, short nails scratching my skin and in a moment, he's on his knees in front of me and it's wrong. It's wrong.

I push him away from me, his mouth already pushing against my dick, through my jeans.

"No, no."

He looks up at me with disappointment, fear.

I tug him up to stand next to me and then I turn him so that he's against the wall. The wariness returns until I fall to my knees before him.

"That wasn't right," I say. "This is right."

I'm on my knees. And I take his cock in my mouth. And I let him push into me, into my mouth, and I do all the things he does to me, all the things I like. And I slide my finger into my mouth and it rubs between my tongue and his dick. And I slip my finger out and press it into him, inside of him, and he groans and shakes, and I give him back everything, everything he's ever given me, and I give it back with pride.

I'm the one making him shake. I'm the one making him groan. And when he comes, pumping down my throat in salty spurts, well, I'm the one who did that, too.

"Jesus Christ," he says, sliding down the wall and into my lap. "How have we never done that before?"

"Was it okay?" I'm nervous. I've never sucked cock before.

"Fucking hell, Jasper. So much more than okay."

Then he sticks his tongue in my mouth, and I feel him licking me, licking inside of my mouth, tasting himself on my tongue. The idea of that, of him tasting himself on me, makes my cock so goddamned hard that I latch onto him and push up, grinding my cock into his thigh.

"I'm gonna take care of that," he says. "I'm gonna take care of you." I don't know how he means it, maybe he just means he's going to get me off, but it's hard to swallow at the idea of him taking care of me. The idea of someone taking care of me.

He stands on shaky legs and pulls me into his bedroom. I almost trip over one of Charlotte's toys, but instead, stub my toe.

"Motherbitch."

"You're gonna have to watch that shit when she's around," he says, and it feels good; he's taking me seriously.

"I will."

"I know."

We get into his room and he pushes me down on the bed.

"Take off your pants."

I comply, popping open the buttons and sliding them down my hips, past my thighs, until they're hooked around my ankles. Peter yanks them the rest of the way off, then slides up my body. He runs his nose along my cock, his tongue flicking out here and there, until he takes the head into his mouth and I arch up off the bed.

"I've missed this," he says, flicking his tongue into my slit. "A lot."

I flop back onto the bed, letting him do whatever he wants. When I feel his finger at my ass hole, I breathe deep and focus on how fucking good it felt the one time he did that before.

He takes me into his mouth, and I'm lost in sensation all over again. Lost, until I feel him pressing into me with his fingers. It's too much, too full, and I'm panting. I don't know if it feels good, but I like it.

It takes me a second, but I know what he's trying to show me.

"Yes," I gasp. "Yes, I want it. Do it." I pull him up to my mouth, and he kisses me hard, his fingers still inside of me.

"Yeah? You want me to – fuck – you want me to fuck you?"

I nod against his kiss and he moves away from me for a moment. When he comes back, there's cool lube on my cock and against my ass, and I freeze up.

"It's just me," he says, leaning over me, licking outside of my ear. "It's just me."

I like this. I like him taking for once. I like him taking from me.

He pumps my dick and rubs against my ass until I'm panting again. When he positions himself and pushes in, I freeze up. I can't move.

"Just me," he says, his mouth on my throat, teeth biting at soft flesh.

I try to relax, and I try to push back at him, but I'm afraid and tense, and it's too much.

He cuddles me – one hand tangled into my hair, the other under my ass. His chest is hard against mine, and I can feel him breathing. It's not hard. He's not…he doesn't feel like he's out of control. He feels good. _Right._

I shift my hips so that I'm pushing onto him, and he stays still. The sound of our breathing echoes off the walls – mine, desperate and fast. His, slow and measured. If he wants this as bad as I do, he's not showing it.

"Easy," he whispers. "You have to want it."

"I do." I press a little further. "I'm yours."

We lay in a holding pattern for seconds or minutes or hours. I don't know. What I know is that I'm being opened up, pulled apart, fulfilled. What I know is that nothing before has ever equaled this.

When he's finally inside of me – all the way inside of me – I'm panting hard and begging. He takes my cock in his hand and begins to stroke, slow and steady, in time with the way he moves inside of me.

It's heaven. It's dirty and incredible and it's proof of how much I love him.

Like he can hear my thoughts, he stops.

When he pulls out, I feel empty, void.

One hand moves behind him, and the other strips off the condom, tossing it aside. Before I can ask what he's doing, he's got my cock wrapped up in rubber, and he's straddling my hips, pushing himself down onto me, making my head hurt and my heart hurt with how much I want him.

"Too much," I say, as I feel his ass hit the tops of my thighs. "God, it's too much. You're too much."

He falls on top of me, letting me push up, into him. "No," he says, his whisper harsh inside of my ear. "Not enough. Not enough."

My hands want to hold onto his hips and fuck him hard. My mouth wants every inch of his skin under my tongue. But I'm too busy feeling, feeling all of this, to take all the things I want. My fingers are everywhere – hair and back and ass and hips and cock – and my mouth never wants for his flesh, unless I'm saying things –ridiculous things – into the air around us.

I come too fast, and when I do, I see the smirk at the corner of his mouth. I might have been fucking him, but he fucked me right back. It's too good, being inside of him, and him hard and hot and everything I want, right on top of me. He's not soft; his voice is deep, gruff. He's a man, and he's everything I want.

He comes again, not long after I do, both of us stroking his cock, bringing him off. He spurts hot and wet across my stomach and chest, and then falls down onto me, our bodies smearing it around until it's sticky between us.

"Shower or nap?" he asks.

"Both?"

He grins at me and pulls me off the bed, until we're in the shower.

We stand under the water, hot and steaming and the smell of his soap makes me feel…so much.

"I've missed you," I say. His eyes are brown and flecked with green, and I can see what I'm feeling, mirrored back to me.

I drop my head to his shoulder, feeling months of tension and strain slipping away from me, washed down the drain like so much soapy water. He places his hand at the back of my neck, cupping me close, holding me near. I feel his lips move against my skin, and he's covering me in kisses. We stay that way, sweet and delicious, until the hot water runs out. By the time we hit the bed again, we're naked, damp and shivering.

He snuggles us tight beneath the blankets, pressing our bodies together to create some kind of warmth. As we begin to warm, I feel myself relax, letting my body mold to his. Nothing has ever felt more right.

"I'm sorry," I say again, because I can say it a hundred times and still not get it right. Still not show him how much I mean it.

"I know," he says. In the dim light of the room, his eyes are almost black, and I notice that his hair has gotten longer. I twist a curl around my finger and wait for the 'but.'

When he doesn't say it, I do it for him. "But?"

"Have you talked to your friends, to Rosalie?"

"Yeah! Yeah, God yeah." I roll away from him a little, scooting back so I can see his face. "Rose has been amazing, she's been…so great."

Peter smiles. "Good. I'm glad."

"But?"

"Jasper, I said I forgive you, and I meant it. But we can't go back to where we were…I don't want that."

"I don't either. I want – Peter – I want so much more." I take his face in my hand and lean down to kiss him. It's not the hard, desperate kiss from before. It's softer, so sweet, and I feel like I could do this forever – just kiss, breath him in and feel his mouth, his lips, all of him. I finally break the kiss because I realize that there's so much more of him left, and I want him to know – to understand. I want him to know how I feel, so I press a kiss against his cheek, against his forehead, the tip of his nose.

I whisper against his skin all the things I need him to know. "I know I've lost your trust. But I haven't been with anyone – anyone – in over six months. The only one I want is you. And I'll do whatever it takes, put in as much time as you need, for you to know it. You make the rules," I say. "I'll do what it takes."

I feel his fingers thread into my hair as he pulls my mouth back to his. After another long, long kiss, he pulls away.

"We'll get there," he says. "I really think we will."

I lay my head on his shoulder and it feels so good to be held by him, for however long he'll have me.

"My folks are bringing Charlotte back tomorrow night. We're all having dinner here – probably just going to grill something."

My heart sits in my throat. Is he already telling me I have to go? I've never dated anyone with kids before, but I'm pretty sure he won't want me hanging around her until he's sure of me, sure of us.

"Okay," I say. Maybe I don't get tomorrow, but at least I have today, and tonight. I made a promise to play it his way, and I'm a man of my word.

"Will you stay?"

I draw back and look in his eyes. He's looking at me through long lashes and I want to press my lips to them. I want to get him dressed and walk with him in the sunshine and help Charlotte learn to ride a two-wheeled bike, and how to do double multiplication. I want to learn who she is, and who he is when he's with her. I want to be a part of their lives.

I want to be their family, to_ have_ a family. And I think…I think he might let me try.

When I speak I'm looking him in the eye. I'm putting my heart into it, my guts. I'm laying it on the line.

"For forever, if you'll have me."

"I will," he says, before his mouth claims the skin at the hollow of my throat. "I will."

.

.

* * *

AN:

This story means a lot to me, and I am grateful to the men and women in my life who helped to shape me into the woman I am, and whose experiences lent themselves to this tale. My heart is full, because of them.

So this is it for the Venice Beach kids. I hope you enjoyed their journey as much as I enjoyed writing about it. That said, I **may** write a little Em/Ro, someday. But for now, I'm marking this complete. Thank you so much for reading.

This is my first, and probably only, slash. Because of that, I needed a lot of help. **FarDareisMai2 and Zigster** are my tripod and this never would have happened without their help. They both read the first (and woefully shorter) draft and inked it up for me. **Ajasperforme** tried verrah hard to corral my commas. **AccioBourbon** helped me find the missing pieces that made this story whole, and in the process, became someone I call friend. I could NOT have done this without them.

Lastly, huge thanks to MsTallulahBelle. She really helped get this story seen, way back when, and I am so grateful to her, for everything.


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